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THE    PRINCESS    VICTORIA    IN    1830 
(From  the  Picture  by  Richaed  Westall,  R.A.,  at  Windsor  Castle.; 


FIFTY    YEARS    AGO 


BY 


WALTER    BESANT 


AUTHOR   OF    'ALL   SORTS   AND   CONDITIONS   OF   MEN'   ETC. 


PROFUSELY  ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN   SQUARE 


By  WALTER   BE  S ANT. 


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SANTA  BARBAHa: 


PREFACE. 

It  has  been  my  desire  in  the  following  pages  to  present 
a  picture  of  society  in  this  country  as  it  was  when  the 
Queen  ascended  the  throne.  The  book  is  an  enlarge- 
ment of  a  paper  originally  contributed  to  '  The  Graphic' 
I  have  written  several  additional  chapters,  and  have 
revised  all  the  rest.  The  chapter  on  Law  and  Justice 
has  been  written  for  this  volume  by  my  friend  Mr.  W. 
Morris  Colles,  of  the  Inner  Temple.  I  beg  to  record 
my  best  thanks  to  that  gentleman  for  his  important 
contribution. 

I  have  not  seen  in  any  of  the  hterature  called  forth 
by  the  happy  event  of  last  year  any  books  or  papers 
which  cover  the  exact  ground  of  this  compilation. 
There  are  histories  of  progress  and  advancement ; 
there  are  contrasts ;  but  there  has  not  been  offered  any- 
where, to  my  knowledge,  a  picture  of  life,  manners,  and 
society  as  they  were  fifty  years  ago. 

When  the  editor  of  '  The  Graphic  '  proposed  that  I 
should  write  a  paper  on  this  subject,  I  readily  con- 
sented, thinking  it  would  be  a  light  and  easy  task,  and 
one  which  could  be  accomplished  in  two  or  three 
weeks.      Light   and    easy  it  certainly  was  in  a  sense, 


VI  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

because  it  Avas  very  pleasant  work,  and  the  books  to  be 
consulted  are  easily  accessible ;  but  then  there  are  so 
many  :  the  investigation  of  a  single  point  sometimes 
carried  one  through  half-a-dozen  volumes.  The  two  or 
three  weeks  became  two  or  three  months. 

At  the  very  outset  of  the  work  I  was  startled  to 
find  how  great  a  revolution  has  taken  place  in  our 
opinions  and  ways  of  thinking,  how  much  greater  than 
is  at  first  understood.  For  instance,  America  was,  fifty 
years  ago,  practically  unknown  to  the  bulk  of  our 
people ;  American  ideas  had  little  or  no  influence  upon 
us ;  our  people  had  no  touch  with  the  United  States ; 
if  they  spoke  of  a  Eepublic,  they  still  meant  the  first 
French  Eepublic,  the  only  Eepublic  they  knew,  with 
death  to  kings  and  tyrants  ;  while  the  recollection  of  the 
guillotine  still  preserved  cautious  and  orderly  people 
from  Eepublican  ideas. 

Who  now,  however,  connects  a  Eepubhc  with  a 
Eeign  of  Terror  and  the  guillotine  ?  The  American 
Eepublic,  in  fact,  has  taken  the  place  of  the  French. 
Again,  though  the  Eeform  Bill  had  been,  in  1837, 
passed  already  five  years,  its  efiects  were  as  yet  only 
beginning  to  be  felt ;  we  were  still,  politically,  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  So  in  the  Church,  in  the  Law,  in 
the  Services,  in  Society,  we  were  governed  by  the  ideas 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 


PREFACE  vii 

The  nineteenth  century  actually  began  with  steam 
communication  by  sea  ;  with  steam  machinery ;  with 
railways;  with  telegraphs;  with  the  development  of 
the  colonies;  with  the  admission  of  the  people  to  the 
government  of  the  country;  with  the  opening  of  the 
Universities ;  with  the  spread  of  science ;  with  the 
revival  of  the  democratic  spirit.  It  did  not  really 
begin,  in  fact,  till  about  fifty  years  ago.  When  and 
how  will  it  end  ?  By  what  order,  by  what  ideas,  will 
it  be  foUowed  ? 

In  compiling  even  such  a  modest  work  as  the  pre- 
sent, one  is  constantly  attended  by  a  haunting  dread  ol 
having  forgotten  something  necessary  to  complete  the 
picture.  I  have  been  adding  little  things  ever  since  I 
began  to  put  these  scenes  together.  At  this,  the  very 
last  moment,  the  Spirit  of  Memory  whispers  in  my  ear, 
*  Did  you  remember  to  speak  of  the  high  fireplaces,  the 
open  chimneys — up  which  half  the  heat  mounted — 
the  broad  hobs,  and  the  high  fenders,  with  the  fronts 
pierced,  in  front  of  which  people's  feet  were  always  cold.^ 
Did  you  remember  to  note  that  the  pin  of  the  period 
had  its  head  composed  of  a  separate  piece  of  wire  rolled 
round ;  that  steel  pens  were  either  as  yet  unknown,  or 
were  precious  and  costly  things  ;  that  the  quiU  was 
always  wanting  a  fresh  nib ;  that  the  wax-match  did 
not  exist ;  that  in  the  country  they  still  used  the  old- 


viii  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

fashioned  brimstone  match  ;  that  the  night-light  of  the 
period  was  a  rush  candle  stuck  in  a  round  tin  cyhnder 
full  of  holes  ;  and  that  all  the  ladies'  dress  had  hooks 
and  eyes  behind  ?  ' 

I  do  not  think  that  I  have  mentioned  any  of  these 
points  ;  and  yet,  how  much  food  for  reflection  is 
afforded  by  every  one !  Eeader,  you  may  perhaps  find 
my  pictures  imperfect,  but  you  can  fill  in  any  one 
sketch  from  your  own  superior  knowledge.  Meantime, 
remember  this.  As  nearly  as  possible,  fifty  years  ago, 
the  eighteenth  century  passed  away.  It  died  slowly ; 
its  end  was  hardly  marked. 

King  William  the  Fourth  is  dead.  Alas !  how  many 
things  were  dying  with  that  good  old  king  !  The  steam- 
whistle  was  already  heard  across  the  fields  :  already  in 
mid-ocean  the  great  steamers  were  crossing  against  wind 
and  tide :  already  the  nations  were  slowly  beginning 
to  know  each  other :  Privilege,  Patronage,  and  the 
Power  of  Rank  were  beginning  already  to  tremble,  and 
were  afraid ;  already  the  working  man  was  heard  de- 
manding his  vote  :  the  nineteenth  century  had  begun. 
We  who  have  lived  in  it ;  we  who  are  full  of  its  ideas ; 
we  who  are  all  swept  along  upon  the  full  stream  of  it — 
we  inow  not,  we  cannot  see,  whither  it  is  carrying  us. 

W.  B. 


CONTENTS. 


OHAPTEB  PAOm 

I.  Great  Britain,  Ireland,  and  the  Colonies  ...  1 

n.  The  Year  1837 .18 

III.  London  in  1837 30 

IV.  In  the  Street .45 

V.  With  the  People 67 

VI.  With  the  Middle-Class 85 

VII.  In  Society 110 

VIII.  At  the  Play  and  the  Show 125 

IX.  In  the  House 137 

X.  At  School  and  University 154 

XI.  The  Tavern 160 

XII.  In  Club-  and  Card-land 175 

XIII.  With  the  Wits 183 

XIV.  Journals  and  Journalists 209 

XV.  The  Sportsman 214 

XVI.  In  Factory  and  Mine 224 

XVII.  With  the  Men  of  Science 238 

XVIII.  Law  and  Justice .    .  237 

XIX.  Conclusion 258 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PLATES. 


The  Princess  Victoria   in   1830.      From   the  Picture  hy 

Richard  WestaU,li. A.,  at  Windsor  Castle 

Windsor  Castle 

Queen   Victoria    in    1839.      From    a    Draicing  hy  R.  J. 

Lane,  AM. A *    . 

Thomas  Carlyle.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery    .         .         .     . 
The  Queen's  First  Council — Kensington  Palace,  June 

20,  1837.      From  the  Picture  hy  Sir  David  Wilkie,  R.A., 

at  Windsor  Castle      ........ 

A  Show  of  Twelfth- Cakes.     From  Cruikshanlc's  '■Comic 

Almanack '  ......... 

Greenwich  Park.      From  CruUcshanTc's  '■Comic  Almanack' 
The   Chimney- Sweeps'  Annual  Holiday.     From  Cruik- 

shank'' s '■  Comic  Almanach^ 

Beating      the      Bounds.  •    From      Cruikshank's     '  Comic 

Almanack''        ........ 

Bartholomew  Fair.  From  Cruikshank's  '■Comic  Almanack 
Vauxhall  Gardens.  From  Cruikshank's '•Comic  Almanack 
In  Fleet  Street.    Proclaiming  the  Queen.    From  Cruik 

shank's  '■Comic  Almanack'  .  ..... 

Leigh  Hunt.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 

John  Galt.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery      .... 

The  Queen  receiving  the  Sacrament  after  her  Coro 

nation.     Westminster  Abbey,  June  28, 1838.     From 

the  Picture  hy  C.  R.  Leslie^  R.A.^at  Windsor  Castle    , 
Theodore  Hook.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 


Frontispiece 
Vignette 

PAGE 

7h  face      1 
10 


18 


20 
22 

24 


5) 

26 

n 

28 

1 

5) 

30 

)) 

56 

1) 

64 

- 

86 

I 

94 

100 

FIFTY    YEARS  AGO 


The  Countess  op  Blessington.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery, 
Count  d'Ousay.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery       ... 
Sydney  Smith.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery     . 
.ToiiN  Baldwin  IU'ckstone.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery      . 
Thomas  Noon  Talfourd.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery    . 
Mary  Russell  :Mitford.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Sir  Walter  Scott.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery    . 
Lord  Lyndiiurst.     From,  the  Fraser  Gallery    . 
"William  Cobbett.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Loud  John  Russell.     Frotn  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Edwai{d  Lytton  Bulwer.     Fro7n  the  Fraser  Gallery  . 
Benjamln  D'Israeli.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Thomas  Campbell.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
William  AVordsworth.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Rev.  William  Lisle  Bowles.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Pierre-Jean  de  Beranger.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery  . 
.Tames  Hogg.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Regina's  IMaids  of  Honour.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
ILvrriet  ]\L\rtineau.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery  . 
William  Harrison  Ainsworth.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
The  Fraserians.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
John  Gibson  Lockhart.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Samuel  Rogers.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery  . 
Thomas  Moore.     From  the  Fraser  Gallei-y 
Lord  Brougham  and  Vaux.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Washington  Irving.    From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
John  Wilson  Croker.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 
Cockney  Sportsmen.    From  CruikshanMs  '■Comic  Almanack 
Return    from    the    Races.      Froin    CruUcshanlc's   '■Comic 
Ahnanaclc''  ......... 

Sir  John  C.  Hobhouse.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 

A  Point  of  Law.     From  Cruil-shanh's  '■Comic  Almanaclc'' 

Michael  Faraday.     From  the  Fraser  Gallery 


PAGE 

f.   To  face 

110 

11 

112 

116 

11 

126 

11 

128 

>i 

l.'W 

11 

i;]2 

,, 

138 

11 

140 

)i 

144 

)> 

148 

)i 

150 

71 

176 

11 

182 

V 

184 

,. 

186 

,, 

188 

1' 

190 

V 

192 

„ 

194 

IJ          „ 

196 

11 

198 

,, 

200 

11 

202 

11 

204 

206 

11 

208 

„ 

210 

1) 

218 

n 

220 

11 

226 

)) 

238 

• 

258 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


WOODCUTS  IN  THE   TEXT. 


PAGK 


Aerival  of  the  Coeonation  Numbee  of  'The  Sun*      ...  2 

Lifeguard,  1837    .        .                ,    .  4 

Geneeal  Postman 6 

Napoleon  at  Longwood.  From  a  Drawing  made  in  1820  .  .  12 
London    Street   Characters,   1837.    From  a  Drawing  hxj  John 

Leech 14 

6  Great  Cheyne  Row.     The  House  in  which  Carlyle  lived  from 

1834  to  his  Death  in  1881 16 

The  Duchess  of  Kent,  with  the  Princess  Victoria  at  the  Age 

OF  Two.    From  the  Picture  by  Sir  W.  Beechey,  B.A.,  at  Windsor 

Castle 17 

William  rV.    From  a  Drawing  by  HB 18 

Peeler •        ...  20 

The  Spaniards  Tavern,  Hampstead    .        , 22 

Sir  Egbert  Peel 24 

A    Parish   Beadle.     From,  a  Draiuhig  by  George  Cridhshank  in 

•  London  Characters  ' 26 

Evening  in  Smithfield.     From  a  Drawing  made  in   1858,  at  the 

Gateway  leading  into  Cloth  Fair,  the  Place  of  Proclamation  of 

Bartholomew  Fair 28 

Fireman 31 

Hackney  Coachman.    From  a  Drawing  by  George  CruiTcshanh  in 

'  London  Characters  ' 34 

The  First  London  Exchange 34 

The  Second  London  Exchange 35 

The  Present  Royal  Exchange — Third  London  Exchange  .  .  35 
Charing  Ceoss  in  the  Present  Day.     From  a  Drawing  by  Frank 

Murray 37 

Temple  Bar 38 

The  Royal  Courts  of  Justice 39 

Lyons  Inn  in  1804.    From  an  Engraving  in  Herbert's  •  History  of 

the  Inns  of  Court  '           .........  41 

Kennington  Gate — Derby  Day 42 


xiv  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

FAOB 

The  Old  Roman  Bath  in  the  Strand        .        .        .        ,        .    .    43 
London    Street    Chaeacters,   1827.     From  a   Drawinrj  htj  John 

Leech 46 

The  King's  Mews  in  1750.     From  a  Print  by  I.  Maurer   .         .     .     47 
Barrack   and  Old    Houses   on  the   Site  of  Trafalgar  Square. 

From  a  Drawing  made  by  F.  W.  Fairholi  in  182G     .         .         .48 
The  Last  Cabriolet-Driver.     From  a  Drawing  by  George  CruiJc- 

shank  in  '  Sketches  by  Boz  ' 49 

A  Greenwich  Pensioner.     From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruikshank 

in '^  London  Characters  ' .     52 

An  Omnibus  Upset,     From,  Cruikshank's  '  Comic  Almanack  '     .     .     53 

Exeter  Change 54 

The  Parish  Engine.     From  a  Draiuing  by  George  Cruikshank  in 

'  Sketches  by  Boz  '  56 

Crockford's  Fish  Shop.     From  a  Drawing  by  F.  W.  FairhoU         .     57 

Thomas  Chatterton      .        , 60 

Third  Regiment  of  Buffs 68 

Douglas  Jerrold.     From  the  Bust  by  E.  H.  Bailey,  R. A.      ...     64 
John  Forster.     From  a  Photograph  by  Elliott  d  Fry    .         ,         .     6"» 

Charles  Dickens 66 

The  Darby  Day.     From  Cruikshank's  '  Comic  Almanack  '       .         .76 

Newgate — Entrance  in  the  Old  Bailey 77 

In  the  Queen's  Bench 79 

George  Eliot.    From  a  Drawing  in  '  The  Graphic  '  ,  86 

La  Pastourelle 89 

Fashions  for  August  1836 '  .        .        .    .    98 

Fashions  for  March  1837 98 

Watchman.     From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruikshank  in  '  London 

Characters ' 101 

A  Scene  on  Blackheath.     From  a  Drawing  by  '  Phiz  '  in  Grant's 

'  Sketches  in  London  ' 105 

Maid- Servant.   From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruikshank  in  '  London 

Characters  ' 107 

Officer  of  the  Dragoon  Guards Ill 

A  Sketch  in  the   Park  —  The   Duke   of   Wellington  and  Mrs. 

Aebuthnot 115 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  xv 


PAGH 


LiNKMAN 117 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 123 

LiSTON  AS  '  Paul  Pry.'     From  a  Drawing  hy  George  CruiJcshanTc  .  128 

Charles  Reade 130 

T.  P.  Cooke  in  '  Black-eyed  Susan  '         .        .  ...  132 

Vauxhall  Gardens 133 

The  '  New  '  Houses  of  Parliament,  from  the  River  .        .        .  138 

Lord  Melbourne 140 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay 141 

Lord  Palmerston 142 

Bubdett,  Hume,  and  O'Connell.     From  a  Drawing  by  HB.  .  143 

Daniel  O'Connell 14G 

O'Connell  taking  the  Oaths  in  the  House.    From  a  Drawing  bij 

'  Phiz  '  in  '  Sketches  in  London  '  ......  147 

Edmund  Kean  as  Richard  the  Third 161 

Old  Entrance  to  the  Cock,  Fleet  Street 1G3 

The  Old  Tabard  Inn,  High  Street,  Southwark      .        .        .     .  173 
Sign  of  the  Swan  with  Two  Necks,  Carter  Lane       .        ,        .  174 

Sign  of  the  Bolt-in-Tun,  Fleet  Street 174 

Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club,  Pall  Mall 17G 

United  University  Club,  Pall  Mall 177 

Crockford's,  St.  James's  Street 179 

Charles  Knight.     From  a  Photograph  by  Hughes  d  Mullins  .  184 

Robert  Southey        185 

Thomas  Moore 18G 

'  Vathek  '  Beckford.     From  a  Medallion 187 

Walter  Savage  Landor.     From  a  Photograph  by  H.  Wafkins      .  188 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 189 

Lord  Byron 190 

Sir  Walter  Scott 191 

A  Fashionable  Beauty  of  1837.    By  A.  E.  Chalon,  B.A.  .     .  193 

Lord  Tennyson  as  a  Young  Man.    From  the  Picture  by  Sir   T. 

Lawrence,  R.A.    ........••  19G 

Matthew  Arnold 200 

Charles  Darwin 201 


xvi  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

Holland  House 203 

Letting  Cuildken  down  a  Coal-Mine.     From  a  Plate  in  '  The 

Westminster  Review ' 225 

Children  Working  in  a  Coal-Mine.    From  a  Plate  in  '  The  West- 

Tninster  Review  ' 229 

London   Street   Characters,    1837.     From  a  Drawing  by  John 

Leech 231 

Marshalsea — The  Courtyard.    From  a  Drawing  hrj  C.  A.   Van- 

derhoof 239 


QUEEN    YICTOEIA    IN    1839. 
(From  a  Drawing  by  R.  J.  Lake,  A.R.A.) 


FIFTY    YEARS    AGO. 

CHAPTER  I. 

GREAT   BRITAIN,    IRELAND,   AND   TIIE   COLONIES. 

I  PROPOSE  to  set  before  my  readers  a  picture  of  the 
country  as  it  was  when  Queen  Victoria  (God  save  the 
Queen !)  ascended  the  throne,  now  fifty  years  ago  and 
more.  It  will  be  a  picture  of  a  time  so  utterly  passed 
away  and  vanished  that  a  young  man  can  hardly  under- 
stand it.  I,  who  am  no  longer,  unhappily,  quite  so 
young  as  some,  and  whose  babyhood  heard  the  cannon 
of  the  Coronation,  can  partly  understand  this  time, 
because  in  many  respects,  and  especially  in  the  man- 
ners of  the  middle  class,  customs  and  habits  which 
went  out  of  fashion  in  London  lingered  in  the  country 
towns,  and  formed  part  of  my  own  early  experiences. 

In  the  year  1837 — I  shall  repeat  this  remark  several 
times,  because  I  wish  to  impress  the  fact  upon  every- 
body— we  were  stiU,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  in  the 
eighteenth  century.    As  yet  the  country  was  untouched 


2  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

by  tliat  American  influence  which  is  now  filhng  all 
peoples  with  new  ideas.  Eank  was  still  held  in  the 
ancient  reverence ;  religion  was  still  that  of  the 
eighteenth-century  Church  ;  the  rights  of  labour  were 
not  yet  recognised ;  there  were  no  trades'  unions ;  there 
were  no  railways  to  speak  of;  nobody  travelled  except 


ARRIVAL   OF    THE    CORONATION    NDJIBER   OF   '  THE     SUN  ' — ONE    PAPER,    AND    ONE    MAN 
WHO    CAN    READ    IT    IN    THE    TOWN 


the  rich  ;  their  own  country  was  unknown  to  the 
people  ;  the  majority  of  country  people  could  not  read 
or  write ;  the  good  old  discipline  of  Father  Stick  and 
his  children,  Cat-o'-Nine-Tails,  Eope's-end,  Strap,  Birch, 
Ferule,  and  Cane,  was  wholesomely  maintained ;  land- 
lords, manufacturers,  and  employers  of  all  kinds  did 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,  THE   COLONIES      3 

what  they  pleased  with  their  own;  and  the  BlueEibbon 
was  unheard  of.  There  were  still  some  fiery  spirits  in 
whose  breasts  lingered  the  ideas  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, and  the  Chartists  were  already  beginning  to  run 
their  course.  Beneath  the  surface  there  was  discon- 
tent, which  sometimes  bubbled  up.  But  freedom  of 
speech  was  limited,  and  if  the  Sovereign  People  had 
then  ventured  to  hold  a  meeting  in  Trafalgar  Square, 
that  meeting  would  have  been  dispersed  in  a  very  swift 
and  surprising  manner.  The  Eeform  Act  had  been 
passed,  it  is  true,  but  as  yet  had  produced  little  effect. 
Elections  were  carried  by  open  bribery ;  the  Civil 
Service  was  full  of  great  men's  nominees ;  the  Church 
was  devoured  by  pluralists  ;  there  were  no  competitive 
examinations ;  the  perpetual  pensions  were  many  and 
fat ;  and  for  the  younger  sons  and  their  progeny  the 
State  was  provided  with  any  number  of  sinecures. 
How  men  contrived  to  live  and  to  be  cheerful  in  this 
state  of  things  one  knows  not.  But  really,  I  think  it 
made  very  little  apparent  difference  to  their  happiness 
that  this  country  was  crammed  full  of  abuses,  and  that 
the  Ship  of  State,  to  outsiders,  seemed  as  if  she  were 
about  to  capsize  and  founder. 

This  is  to  be  a  short  chapter  of  figures.  Figures 
mean  very  httle  unless  they  can  be  used  for  purposes 
of  comparison.  When,  for  instance,  one  reads  that  in 
the  Census  of  1831  the  population  of  Great  Britain 
was  16,539,318,  the  fact  has  httle  significance  except 
when  compared  with  the  Census  of  1881,  which  shows 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


tliat  the  population  of  tlie  country  had  increased  in 
fifty  years  from  sixteen  milUons  to  twenty-four  railhons. 
And,  again,  one  knows  not  whether  to  rejoice  or  to 
weep  over  tliis  fact  until  it  has  been  ascertained  how 
the  condition  of  these  millions  has  changed  for  better 
or  for  worse,  and  whether  the  outlook  for  the  future, 
if,  in  the  next  fifty  years,  twenty-four  become  thirty- 
six,  is  hopeful  or  no.     Next,  when  one  reads  that  the 

population  of  Ireland  was  then 
seven  millions  and  three-quar- 
ters, and  is  now  less  than  five 
millions,  and,  further,  that  one 
Irishman  in  three  was  always 
next  door  to  starving,  and  that 
the  relative  importance  of  Ire- 
land to  Great  Britain  was  then 
as  one  to  two,  and  is  now  as 
one  to  five,  one  naturally  con- 
gratulates Ireland  on  getting 
more  elbow-room  and  Great 
Britain  on  the  relative  decrease 
in  Irish  power  to  do  the  larger  island  an  injury. 

The  Army  and  Navy  together  in  1831  contained  no 
more  than  277,017  men,  or  half  their  present  number. 
But  then  the  proportion  of  the  English  military  strength 
to  the  French  was  much  nearer  one  of  equality.  The 
relief  of  the  poor  in  1831  absorbed  6,875,552/.,  but 
this  sum  in  1844  had  dropped  to  4,976,090/.,  the 
saving  of  two  millions  bein<T  due  to  the  new  Poor  Law. 


lilFEGUABD,  1837 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,  THE   COLONIES      5 

The  stream  of  emigration  had  hardly  yet  begun  to  flow. 
Witness  the  following  figures  : 

The  number  of  emigrants  in  1820  was  18,984 

„  1825  8,860 

„  „  1832        103,311 

„  „  1837          72,034 

It  was  not  until  1841  that  the  great,  flow  of  emi- 
grants began  in  the  direction  of  New  Zealand  and  Aus- 
tralia. The  emigrants  of  1832  chiefly  went  to  Canada, 
and  as  yet  the  United  States  were  practically  unaffected 
by  the  rush  from  the  old  countries. 

The  population  of  the  great  towns  has  for  the  most 
part  doubled  itself  in  the  last  fifty  years.  London  had 
then  a  million  and  a  half;  Liverpool,  200,000;  Man- 
chester, 250,000 ;  Glasgow,  250,000 ;  Birmingham, 
150,000  ;  Leeds,  140,000  ;  and  Bristol,  120,000. 

Penal  settlements  were  still  flourishing.  Between 
1825  and  1840,  when  they  were  suppressed,  48,712 
convicts  were  sent  out  to  Sydney.  As  regards  travel- 
ling, the  fastest  rate  along  the  high  roads  was  ten  miles 
an  hour.  There  were  54  four-horse  mail  coaches  in 
England,  and  49  two-horse  mails.  In  Ireland  there 
were  30  four-horse  coaches,  and  10  in  Scotland.  There 
were  3,026  stage  coaches  in  the  country,  of  which 
1,507  started  from  London. 

There  were  already  668  British  steamers  afloat, 
though  the  penny  steamboat  did  not  as  yet  ply  upon 
the  river.  Heavy  goods  travelled  by  the  canals  and 
navio-able  rivers,  of  which  there  were  4,000  in  Great 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


Britain;  the  hackney  coach,  with  its  pair  of  liorses, 
himbered  slowly  along  tlie  street ;  the  cabriolet  was 
the  light  vehicle  for  rapid  conveyance,  but  it  was  not 
popular  ;  the  omnibus  had  only  recently  been  intro- 
duced by  Mr.  Shillibeer  ;  and  there  were  no  hansom 
cabs.     There  was  a  Twopenny  Post  in  London,  but  no 

Penny  Post  as  yet.  There 
was  no  Book  Post,  no 
Parcel  Post,  no  London 
Parcels  Deli  very  Company . 
If  you  wanted  to  send  a 
parcel  to  anywhere  in 
the  country,  you  confided 
it  to  the  guard  of  the 
coach ;  if  to  a  town  ad- 
dress, there  were  street 
messengers  and  the  'cads' 
about  the  stage-coach 
stations  ;  there  were  no  telegraplis,  no  telephones,  no 
commissionaires. 

Fifty  years  ago  the  great  railways  were  all  begun, 
but  not  one  of  them  was  completed.  A  map  published 
in  the  Athenceum  of  January  23,  183G,  shows  the  state 
of  the  railways  at  that  date.  The  line  between  Liver- 
pool and  Manchester  was  opened  in  September,  1830. 
In  1836  it  was  carrying  450,000  passengers  in  the  year, 
and  paying  a  dividend  of  9  per  cent.  The  line  between 
Carlisle  and  Newcastle  was  very  nearly  completed  ;  that 
between  Leeds  and  Selby  was  opened  in  1834 ;  there 


GENERAL    POSTMAN 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,  THE   COLONIES     7 

were  many  short  lines  in  the  coal  and  mining  districts, 
and  little  bits  of  the  great  lines  were  already  completed. 
The  London  and  Greenwich  line  was  begun  in  1834  and 
opened  in  1837.  There  were  in  progress  the  London 
and  Birmingham,  the  Birmingham,  Stafford,  and  War- 
rington, the  Great  Western  as  far  as  Bath  and  Bristol, 
and  the  London  and  Southampton  passing  through 
Basingstoke.  It  is  amazing  to  think  that  Portsmouth, 
the  chief  naval  port  and  place  of  embarkation  for 
troops,  was  left  out  altogether.  There  were  also  a 
great  many  lines  projected,  which  afterwards  settled 
down  into  the  present  great  Trunk  lines.  As  they  were 
projected  in  1836,  instead  of  Great  Northern,  North- 
western, and  Great  Eastern,  we  should  have  had  one 
line  passing  through  Saffron  Walden,  Cambridge, 
Peterborough,  Lincoln,  York,  Appleby,  and  Carlisle, 
with  another  from  London  to  Colchester,  Ipswich, 
Norwich,  and  Yarmouth ;  there  was  also  a  projected 
continuation  of  the  G.W.R,  line  from  Bristol  to  Exeter, 
and  three  or  four  projected  lines  to  Brighton  and  Dover. 
The  writer  of  the  article  on  the  subject  in  the  Athenceum 
of  that  date  (January  23,  1836)  considers  that  when 
these  lines  are  completed,  letters  and  passengers  will 
be  conveyed  from  London  to  Liverpool  in  ten  hours. 
'  Little  attention,'  he  says,  '  has  yet  been  given  to  calcu- 
late the  effects  which  must  result  from  the  establishment 
throughout  the  kingdom  of  great  lines  of  intercourse 
traversed  at  a  speed  of  twenty  miles  an  hour.'  Unfor- 
tunately he  had  no  confidence  in  himself  as  a  prophet, 


8  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

or  we  might  have  had  some  curious  and  interestmg 
forecasts. 

As  regards  the  extent  of  the  British  Empire,  there 
has  been  a  very  httle  contraction  and  an  enormous 
extension.  We  have  given  up  the  Ionian  Islands  to 
gratify  the  sentiment  of  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  we  have 
acquired  Cyprus,  which  may  perhaps  prove  of  use. 
We  have  taken  possession  of  Aden,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Eed  Sea.  In  Hindostan,  which  in  1837  was  still 
partially  ruled  by  a  number  of  native  princes,  the  flag 
of  Great  Britain  now  reigns  supreme ;  the  whole  of 
Burma  is  now  British  Burma ;  the  little  island  of  Hong 
Kong,  which  hardly  appears  in  Arrowsmith's  Atlas  of 
1840,  is  now  a  stronghold  of  the  British  Empire. 
Borneo,  then  wholly  unknown,  now  belongs  partially 
to  us  ;  New  Guinea  is  partly  ours ;  Fiji  is  ours.  For 
the  greatest  change  of  all,  however,  we  must  look  at  the 
maps  of  Australia  and  New  Zealand.  In  the  former 
even  the  coast  had  not  been  completely  surveyed ;  Mel- 
bourne was  as  yet  but  a  little  unimportant  township. 
Between  Melbourne  and  Botany  Bay  there  was  not  a 
single  village,  settlement,  or  plantation  It  was  not 
until  the  year  1851,  only  thirty-six  years  ago,  that  Port 
Phillip  was  separated  from  New  South  Wales,  and 
created  an  independent  colony  under  the  name  of 
Victoria  ;  and  for  a  few  years  it  was  a  very  rowdy  and 
noisy  colony  indeed. 

In  New  South  Wales,  the  population  of  which 
was  about  150,000,  convicts  were   still  sent  out.     In 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,  THE   COLONIES      9 

the  year  1840,  when  the  transportation  ceased,  21,000 
convicts  were  assigned  to  private  service.  There  were 
in  Sydney  many  men,  ex-convicts,  who  had  raised  them- 
selves to  wealth  ;  society  was  divided  by  a  hard  lines 
not  to  be  crossed  in  that  generation  by  those  on  the 
one  side  whose  antecedents  were  honourable  and  those 
on  the  other  who  had  '  served  their  time.'  Tasmania 
was  also  still  a  penal  colony,  and,  apparently,  a  place 
where  the  convicts  did  not  do  so  well  as  in  New  South 
Wales. 

Queensland  as  a  separate  colony  was  not  yet  in  exist- 
ence, though  Brisbane  had  been  begun ;  tropical  Aus- 
tralia was  wholly  unsettled  ;  Western  Australia  was, 
what  it  still  is,  a  poor  and  thinly  settled  country. 

The  map  of  New  Zealand — it  was  not  important 
enough  to  have  a  map  all  to  itself — shows  the  coast-line 
imperfectly  surveyed,  and  not  a  single  town  or  English 
settlement  upon  it  I  Fifty  years  ago  that  great  colony 
was  not  yet  even  founded.  The  first  serious  settlement 
was  made  in  1839,  when  a  patch  of  land  at  Port 
Nicholson,  in  Cook  Strait,  was  bought  from  the  natives 
for  the  first  party  of  settlers  sent  out  by  the  recently 
established  New  Zealand  Company. 

In  North  America  the  whole  of  the  North-West 
Territory,  including  Manitoba,  Musk  oka,  British  Co- 
lumbia, and  Vancouver's  Island,  was  left  to  Indians, 
trappers,  buffaloes,  bears,  and  rattlesnakes.  South 
Africa  shows  the  Cape  Colony  and  nothing  else.  Natal, 
Orange  Free  State,  the  Transvaal,  Bechuanaland,  Griqua- 


ro  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

land,  Zululand  are  all  part  of  the  great  undiscovered 
continent.  Considering  that  all  these  lands  have  now 
been  opened  up  and  settled,  so  that  where  was  formerly 
a  hundred  square  miles  of  forest  and  prairie  there  is 
now  the  same  area  covered  with  plantations,  towns,  and 
farms,  it  will  be  understood  that  the  British  Empire  has 
been  increased  not  only  in  area,  but  in  wealth,  strength, 
and  resources  to  an  extent  which  would  have  been  con- 
sidered incredible  fifty  years  ago.  It  is,  in  fact,  just  the 
difference  between  owning  a  barren  heath  and  owning 
a  cultivated  farm.  The  British  Empire  in  1837  con- 
tained millions  of  square  miles  of  barren  heath  and  wild 
forest,  which  are  now  settled  land  and  smiling  planta- 
tions. It  boasted  of  vast  countries,  with  hardly  a  single 
European  in  them,  which  are  now  filled  with  English 
towns.  In  1837,  prophets  foretold  the  speedy  downfall 
of  an  Empire  which  could  no  longer  defend  her  vast 
territories.  These  territories  can  now  defend  them- 
selves. It  may  be  that  we  shall  have  to  fight  for 
empire,  but  the  longer  the  day  of  battle  is  put  off  the 
better  it  will  be  for  England,  and  the  greater  will  be 
her  might.  To  carry  on  that  war,  there  are  now, 
scattered  over  the  whole  of  the  British  Empire,  fifty 
millions  of  people  speaking  the  Anglo-Saxon  tongue. 
In  fifty  years'  time  there  will  be  two  hundred  millions 
in  Great  Britain,  Ireland,  Australia,  Africa,  Asia,  New 
Zealand,  and  the  Isles,  with  another  two  hundred 
miUions  in  the  States.  If  the  English-speaking  races 
should  decide  to  unite  in  a  vast  confederacy,  all  the 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,  THE   COLONIES    ii 

other  Powers  on  the  earth  combined  will  not  be  able  to 
do  them  an  injury.  Perhaps  after  this  life  we  shall  be 
allowed  to  see  what  goes  on  in  the  world.  If  so,  there 
is  joy  in  store  for  the  Briton  ;  if  not,  we  have  been  born 
too  soon. 

Next  to  the  extension  and  development  of  the 
Empire  comes  the  opening  up  of  new  countries.  We 
have  rescued  since  the  year  1837  the  third  part  of 
Africa  from  darkness ;  we  have  found  the  sources  of 
the  Mle ;  we  have  traced  the  great  Eiver  Congo  from 
its  source  to  its  mouth  ;  we  have  explored  the  whole 
of  Southern  Africa ;  we  have  rediscovered  the  great 
African  lakes  which  were  known  to  the  Jesuits  in  the 
seventeenth  century  ;  in  Australia  we  have  crossed  and 
recrossed  the  continent ;  the  whole  of  North  America 
has  been  torn  from  the  Eed  Indians,  and  is  now  settled 
in  almost  every  part. 

If  the  progress  of  Great  Britain  has  been  great,  that 
of  the  United  States  has  been  amazing.  Along  the 
Pacific  shore,  where  were  fifty  years  ago  sand  and  rock 
and  snow,  where  formerly  the  sluggish  Mexican  kept  his 
ranch  and  the  Eed  Indian  hunted  the  buffalo,  great 
towns  and  American  States  now  flourish.  Arkansas 
and  Missouri  were  frontier  Western  States  ;  Michigan 
was  almost  without  settlers  ;  Chicago  was  a  little  place 
otherwise  called  Port  Dearborn.  The  population  of  the 
States  was  still,  except  for  the  negroes,  and  a  few  de- 
scendants of  Germans,  Dutch,  and  Swedes,  chiefly  of 
pure  British  descent.     As  yet  there  were  in  America 


12 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


few  Irish,  Germans  (except  in  Pennsylvania),  Nor- 
wegians, or  Italians.  Yet  the  people,  much  more  than 
now  our  cousins,  held  little  friendly  feehng  towards  the 


NAPOLEON    AT    LONGWOOD 
(From  a  Drawing  made  in  1820) 


Mother  Country,  and  lacked  the  kindly  sentiment  which 
has  grown  up  of  late  years ;  they  were  quite  out  of 
touch  with  us,  strangers  to  us,  and  yet  speaking  our 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,  THE   COLONIES    13 

tongue,  reading  our  literature,  and  governed  by  our 
laws. 

As  soon  as  the  battle  of  Waterloo  was  fairly  fought 
and  Napoleon  put  away  at  St,  Helena,  the  Continental 
professors,  historians,  political  students,  and  journalists 
all  began  with  one  accord  to  prophesy  the  approaching 
downfall  of  Great  Britain,  which  some  aflected  to  deplore 
and  others  regarded  with  complacency.  Everything 
conspired,  it  was  evident,  not  only  to  bring  about  this 
decline,  but  also  to  accelerate  it.  The  parallel  of  Car- 
thage— England  has  always  been  set  up  as  the  second 
Carthage — was  freely  exhibited,  especially  in  those 
countries  which  felt  themselves  called  upon  and  quaU- 
fied  to  play  the  part  of  Eome.  It  was  pointed  out  that 
there  was  the  dreadful  deadweight  of  Ireland,  with  its 
incurable  poverty  and  discontent;  the  approaching  decay 
of  trade,  which  could  be  only,  in  the  opinion  of  these 
keen- sighted  philosophers,  a  matter  of  a  few  years  ;  the 
enormous  weight  of  the  National  Debt ;  the  ruined 
manufacturers ;  the  wasteful  expenditure  of  the  Govern- 
ment in  every  branch  ;  the  corrupting  influence  of  the 
Poor  Laws  ;  the  stain  of  slavery ;  the  restrictions  of 
commerce  ;  the  intolerance  of  the  Church ;  the  narrow- 
ness and  prejudice  of  the  Universities  ;  the  ignorance 
of  the  people ;  their  drinking  habits ;  the  vastness  of 
the  Empire.  These  causes,  together  with  discontent, 
chartism,  repubhcanism,  atheism — in  fact,  all  the  dis- 
agreeablisms — left  no  doubt  whatever  that  England  was 
doomed.     Foreigners,  in  fact,  not  yet  recovered  from 


u 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


the  extraordinary  spectacle  of  Great  Britain's  long  duel 
with  France  and  its  successful  termination,  prophesied 
what  they  partly  hoped  out  of  envy  and  jealousy,  and 
partly  feared   from    self-interest.     Therefore   the  poli- 


LoMMiN     STI:ri-.T    CIIMIM    1!    '^,     — 

(From  a  Drawing  by  John  Leech) 


ticians  and  professors  were  always  looking  at  this 
country,  writing  about  it,  watcliing  it,  visiting  it.  No ; 
there  could  be  no  doubt ;  none  of  these  changes  and 
dangers  could  be  denied ;  the  factories  were  choked  witl] 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IRELAND,   THE    COLONIES    15 

excessive   production ;    poverty    stalked    through    the 
country ;  the  towns  were  filled  with    ruined  women ; 
the  streets   were   cumbered    with    drunken   men ;    the 
children  were  growing  up  in  ignorance  and  neglect  in- 
conceivable;   what  could  come  of  all  this  but  ruin? 
Even — and  this  was  the  most  wonderful  and  incredible 
thing  to  those  who  do  not  understand  how  long  a  Briton 
will  go  on  enduring  wrongs  and  suffering  anomalies — 
the  very  House  of  Commons  in  this  boasted  land  of 
freedom  did  not  represent  half  the  people,  seats  were 
openly  bought  and  sold,  others  were  filled  with  nomi- 
nees of  the  great  men  who  owned  them.     What  could 
possibly   follow    but   ruin — swift   and    hopeless   ruin  ? 
What,  indeed  ?    Prophets  of  disaster  always  omit  one 
or  two  important  elements  in  their  calculations,  and  it 
is  through  these  gaps  that  the  people  basely  wriggle, 
instead  of  fulfilling  prophecy  as  they  ought  to  do.     For 
instance,  there  is  the  recuperative  power  of  Man,  and 
there  is  his  individuality.     He  may  be  full  of  moral 
disease,  yet  such  is  his  excellent  constitution  that  he 
presently  recovers — he   shakes  off  his  evil   habits   as 
he  shakes  the  snow  off  his  shoulders,  and  goes  on  an 
altered  creature.     Again,   the  mass  of  men  may  be  in 
heavy  case,  but  the  individual  man  is  patient ;  he  has 
strength  to  suffer  and  endure  until  he  can  pull  through 
the  worst ;  he  has  patience  to  wait  for   better  times ; 
difficulties  only  call  forth  his  ingenuity  and  his  resource : 
disaster   stiffens   his   back,   danger    finds    him    brave. 
Always,  to  the  prophet  who  knows  not  Man,  the  case 


i6 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


is  hopeless.  Always,  to  one  who  considers  that  by 
gazing  into  the  looking-glass,  especially  immediately 
before  or  after  his  morning  bath,  he  may  perceive  his 
brotlier  as  well  as  himself,  things  are  hopeful.  My 
brother,  have  things,  at  your  worst,  ever  been,  morally, 
so  bad  with  you  that  you  have  despaired  of  recovery, 
seeing  that  you  had  only  to  resolve  and  you  were 
cured  ?  Have  you  ever  reflected  that  while,  to  the 
outside  world,  to  your  maiden  aunts  and  to  your  female 


0   GEEAT   CHEYNE   BOW 

(The  HousR  in  which  Carlyle  lived  from  1834 
to  his  death  in  18«1) 


cousins,  you  were  most  certainly  drifting  to  moral 
wreck  and  material  ruin,  you  have  gone  about  the 
world  with  a  hopeful  heart,  feeling  that  the  future 
was  in  your  own  grasp?  Even  now  the  outlook  of 
the  whole  world  is  truly  dark,  and  the  clouds  are 
lowering.  Yet  surely  the  outlook  was  darker,  the 
clouds  were  blacker,  fifty  years  ago.  Eead  Carlyle's 
'  Past  and  Present,'  and  compare.  There  may  be  otlier 
dangers  before  us  of  which  we  then  suspected  nothing. 


1 


^t^>cc^      /^^ 


7,    Ca-^e.^ 


GREAT  BRITAIN,  IREIAND,   THE   COIONIES    17 

But  if  we  still  preserve  the  qualities  which  enabled 
us  to  stand  up,  almost  alone,  against  the  colossal  force 
of  Napoleon,  with  Europe  at  his  back,  and  which 
carried  us  through  the  terrible  troubles  which  followed 
the  war,  we  surely  need  not  despair. 


THE   DUCHESS   OF   KENT,    WITH    THE    PRINCESS   VICTORIA   AT    THE    AOE    OF   TWO 
(From  the  Picture  by  Sir  W.  Beechey  at  Windsor  Castle 


i8 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     YEAR     1837. 

The  year  1837,  except  for  the 
death  of  the  old  King  and  the 
accession  of  the  yoimg  Queen, 
was  a  tolerably  insignificant 
year.  It  was  on  June  20  that 
the  King  died.  He  was  buried 
on  the  evening  of  July  9  at  St. 
George's  Chapel,  Windsor  ;  on 
the  10th  the  Queen  dissolved 
Parliament;  on  the  13th  she 
went  to  Buckingham  Palace ; 
and  on  November  9  slie  visited 
the  City,  where  they  gave  her  a 
magnificent  banquet,  served  in 
Guildhall  at  half  past  five,  the 
Lord  Mayor  and  City  magnates 
humbly  taking  their  modest 
meal  at  a  lower  table.  Both 
the  hour  appointed  for  the 
banquet    and   the   humility   of 

the   Lord   Mayor    and   Aldermen    point  to   a   remote 

period. 


WILLIAM    IV. 

(From  a  Drawing  by  HB.) 


THE    YEAR   1837  19 

The  year  began  with  the  influenza.  Everybody 
had  it.  The  offices  of  the  various  departments  of  the 
Civil  Service  were  deserted,  because  all  the  clerks  had 
influenza.  Business  of  all  kinds  was  stopped  because 
merchants,  clerks,  bankers,  and  brokers  all  had  influ- 
enza; at  Woolwich  fifty  men  of  the  Eoyal  Artillery 
and  Engineers  were  taken  into  hospital  daily,  with 
influenza.  The  epidemic  seems  to  have  broken  out 
suddenly,  and  suddenly  to  have  departed.  Another 
important  event  of  the  year  Avas  the  establishment  of 
steam  communication  with  India  by  way  of  the  Eed 
Sea.  The  '  Atalanta  '  left  Bombay  on  October  2,  and 
arrived  at  Suez  on  October  16.  The  mails  were  brought 
into  Alexandria  on  the  20th,  and  despatched,  such  was 
the  celerity  of  the  authorities,  on  November  7  by  H.M.S. 
'  Volcano.'  They  reached  Malta  on  the  11th,  Gibraltar 
on  the  16th,  and  England  on  December  4,  taking  sixty 
days  in  all,  of  which,  however,  eighteen  days  were 
wasted  in  Alexandria,  so  that  the  possible  time  of 
transit  from  Bombay  to  England  was  proved  to  be 
forty-two  days. 

This  was  the  year  of  the  Greenacre  murder.  The 
wretched  man  was  under  promise  to  marry  an  elderly 
woman,  thinking  she  had  money.  One  night,  while 
they  were  drinking  together,  she  confessed  that  she 
had  none,  and  had  deceived  him  ;  whereupon,  seized 
with  wrath,  he  took  up  whatever  weapon  lay  to  his 
hand,  and  smote  her  on  the  head  so  that  she  fell  back- 
wards dead.  Now  mark  :  if  this  man  had  gone  straight 
3—2 


FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 


to  the  nearest  police-office,  and  confessed  the  crime  of 
homicide,  he  would  certainly  have  escaped  hanging. 
But  he  was  so  horribly  frightened  at  what  had  happened, 
that  he  tried  to  hide  the  thing  by  cutting  up  the  body 
and  bestowing  the  fragments  in  various  places,  all  of 
them  the    most   likely  to    be    discovered.     There  was 

another  woman  in  the 
case,  proved  to  have 
been  in  his  confidence, 
and  tried  with  him, 
when  all  the  pieces 
had  been  recovered, 
and  the  murder  was 
brought  home  to  him. 
He  was  found  guilty 
and  hanged.  And 
never  was  there  a 
lianging  more  numer- 
ously or  more  fashion- 
ably attended.  The 
principal  performer, 
however,  is  said  to 
have  disappointed  his  audience  by  a  pusillanimous 
shrinking  from  the  gallows  when  he  was  brought  out. 
The  Avoman  was  sent  to  Austraha,  where,  perhaps,  she 
still  survives. 

There  was  also,  this  year,  an  extremely  scandalous 
action  in  the  High  Court  of  Justice.  It  was  a  libel 
case  brought  by  Lord  de  Eos,  and  arose  out  of  a  gam- 


THE    YEAR    1S37  21 

bling  quarrel,  in  which  his  lordship  was  accused  of 
cheating  at  cards.  It  was  said  that,  under  pretence  of 
a  bad  cough  and  asthma,  he  kept  diving  under  the 
table  and  fishing  up  kings  and  aces,  a  thing  whicli 
seems  of  elementary  simplicity,  and  capable  of  clear 
denial.  His  lordship,  in  fact,  did  deny  it,  stoutly  and 
on  oath.  Yet  the  witnesses  as  stoutly  swore  that  he 
did  do  this  thing,  and  the  jury  found  that  he  did. 
Whereupon  his  lordship  retired  to  the  Continent,  and 
shortly  afterwards  died,  .§./?.,  without  ofispring  to  lament 
his  errors. 

There  was  a  terrible  earthquake  this  year  in  the 
Holy  Land.  The  town  of  Safed  was  laid  in  ruins,  and 
more  than  four  thousand  of  the  people  were  killed. 
There  was  a  project  against  the  hfe  of  Louis-Philippe, 
by  one  Champion,  who  was  arrested.  He  was  base 
enough  to  hang  himself  in  prison,  so  that  no  one  ever 
knew  if  he  had  any  accomplices. 

The  news  arrived  also  of  a  dreadful  massacre  in 
New  Zealand.  There  was  only  one  English  settlement 
in  the  country ;  it  was  at  a  place  called  Makuta,  in  the 
North  Island,  where  a  Mr.  Jones,  of  Sydney,  had  a 
llax  establishment,  consisting  of  120  people,  men, 
women,  and  children.  They  were  attacked  by  a  party 
of  800  natives,  and  were  all  barbarously  murdered. 

A  fatal  duel  was  fought  on  Hampstead  Heath,  near 
the  Spaniards  Tavern.  The  combatants  were  a 
Colonel  Haring,  of  the  Pohsh  army,  and  another  Polish 
officer,  who  was  shot.     The  seconds  carried  him  to  the 


22 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


Middlesex  Hospital,  where  he  died,  and  nothing  more 
was  said  about  it. 

The  dangers  of  emigration  were  illustrated  by  the 
voyage  of  the  good  ship  '  Diamond,'  of  Liverpool.  She 
had  on  board  a  party  of  passengers  emigrating  to  New 
York.     In  the  good    old    sailing  days,  the  passengers 


THE    SPANIARDS    TAVERN,    HAMPSTEAD 


were  expected  to  lay  in  their  own  provisions,  the  ship 
carrying  water  for  them.  Now  the '  Diamond '  met  with 
contrary  winds,  and  was  ninety  days  out,  three  times 
as  long  as  was  expected.  The  ship  had  no  more  than 
enough  provisions  for  the  crew,  and  when  the  passen- 
gers had  exhausted  their  store  their  sufferings  were 
terrible. 


THE    YEAR  1837  23 

An  embassy  from  the  King  of  Madagascar  arrived 
this  year,  and  was  duly  presented  at  Court.  I  know 
not  what  business  they  transacted,  but  the  fact  has  a 
certain  interest  for  me  because  it  was  my  privilege,  about 
four-and-twenty  years  ago,  to  converse  with  one  of  the 
nobles  who  had  formed  part  of  that  embassy,  and  who, 
after  a  quarter  of  a  century,  was  going  again  on  another 
mission  to  the  Court  of  St.  James.  He  was,  when  I  saw 
him,  an  elderly  man,  dark  of  skin,  but,  being  a  Hova, 
most  intelligent  and  well-informed  ;  also,  being  a  Hova, 
anxious  to  say  the  thing  which  would  please  his  hearers. 
He  recalled  many  incidents  connected  with  the  long 
journey  round  the  Cape  in  a  sailing  vessel,  the  crowds 
and  noise  of  London,  the  venerable  appearance  of  King 
William,  and  his  general  kindness  to  the  ambassadors. 
When  he  had  told  us  all  he  could  recollect,  he  asked 
us  if  we  should  like  to  hear  him  sing  the  song  which 
had  beguiled  many  weary  hours  of  his  voyage.  We 
begged  him  to  sing  it,  expecting  to  hear  something 
national  and  fresh,  something  redolent  of  the  Mada- 
gascar soil,  a  song  sung  in  the  streets  of  its  capital,  An- 
tananarivo, perhaps  with  a  breakdown  or  a  walk  round. 
Alas  !  he  neither  danced  a  breakdown,  nor  did  he  walk 
round,  nor  did  he  sing  us  a  national  song  at  all.  He 
only  piped,  in  a  thin  sweet  tenor,  and  very  correctly, 
that  familiar  hymn  '  Eock  of  Ages,'  to  the  familiar  tune. 
I  have  never  been  able  to  believe  that  this  nobleman. 
His  Excellency  the  Right  Honourable  the  Lord  Eaini- 
feringalarovo.  Knight  of  the  Fifteen  Honour,  entitled 


24 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


to  wear  a  lamba  as  highly  striped  as  the}^  are  made, 
commonly  reported  to  be  a  pagan,  with  several  wives, 
really  comforted  his  soul,  while  at  sea,  with  this  hymn 
But  he  was  with  Christians,  and  this  was  a  missionary's 
hymn  which  he  had  often  heard,  and  it  would  doubtless 
please  us  to  hear  it  sung.  Thereupon  he  sang  it,  and 
a  dead   silence    fell    upon    us.     Behold    however,   the 


SIK   BOBEKT    PEEL 


reason  why  the  record  of  this  simple  event,  the  arrival 
of  the  embassy  from  Madagascar,  strikes  a  chord  in 
the  mind  of  one  at  least  who  reads  it.  There  is  little 
else  to  chronicle  in  the  year.  The  University  of  Dur- 
ham was  founded :  a  truly  brilliant  success  have  they 
made  of  this  learned  foundation  !  And  Sir  Eobert  Peel 
was   Eector    of    Glasgow    University.     For   the   rest, 


THE    YEAR    \Zii  25 

boilers  burst,  coaches  were  upset,  and  many  books  of 
immense  genius  were  produced,  which  now  repose  in 
the  Museum. 

Yet  a  year  which  marked  the  close  of  one  period 
and  the  commencement  of  another.  The  steamship 
'  Atalanta  '  carrying  the  bngs  to  Suez — what  does  this 
mean?  The  massacre  in  New  Zealand  of  the  only 
white  men  on  the  island — what  does  this  portend? 
The  fatal  duel  at  Hampstead ;  the  noble  lord  convicted 
of  cheating  at  cards ;  the  emigrant  ship  ninety  days 
out  with  no  food  for  the  passengers — what  are  these 
things  but  illustrations  of  a  time  that  has  now  passed 
away,  the  passage  from  the  eighteenth  to  the  nineteenth 
century  ?  For  there  are  no  longer  any  duels  ;  noble 
lords  no  longer  gamble,  unless  they  are  very  young 
and  foolish  ;  ships  no  longer  take  passengers  without 
food  for  them  ;  we  have  lessened  the  distance  to  India 
by  three-fourths,  measured  by  time ;  and  the  Maoris 
will  rise  no  more,  for  their  land  is  filled  with  the  white 
men. 

In  that  year,  also,  there  were  certain  ceremonies 
observed  which  have  now  partly  fallen  into  disuse. 

For  instance,  on  Twelfth  Day  it  was  the  custom 
for  confectioners  to  make  in  their  windows  a  brave 
show  of  Twelfth-cakes ;  it  was  also  the  custom  of  the 
public  to  flatten  their  noses  against  the  windows  and 
to  gaze  upon  the  treasures  displayed  to  view.  It  was, 
further,  the  custom — one  of  the  good  old  annual  cus- 
toms, like  beating    the   bounds — for  the  boys   to  pin 


26  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

together  those  who  were  thus  engaged  by  their  coat- 
tails,  shawls,  skirts,  sleeves,  the  ends  of  comforters, 
wrappers,  and  boas,  and  other  outlying  portions  of 
raiment.  When  they  discovered  the  trick — of  course 
they  only  made  pretence  at  being  unconscious — by  the 
rending,  tearing,  and  destruction  of  their  garments, 
they  never  failed  to  fall  into  ecstasies  of  (pretended) 
wrath,  to  the  joy  of  the  children,  who  next  year  re- 


A   PARISH    BEADLE 

(From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruikshank  in  '  London  Characters ') 

peated  the  trick  with  the  same  success  I  think  there 
are  no  longer  any  Twelfth-cakes,  and  I  am  sure  that 
the  boys  have  forgotten  that  trick. 

On  Twelfth  Day  the  Bishop  of  London  made  an 
offering  in  the  Chapel  Eoyal  of  St.  James's  in  com- 
memoration of  the  Wise  Men  from  the  East.  Is  that 
offering  made  still  .^  and,  if  so,  what  does  his  lordship 
offer?  and  with  what  prayers,  or  hopes,  or  expecta- 
tions, is  that  offering  made  ? 


THE    YMAK  1837  27 

At  the  commencement  of  Hilary  Term  the  judges 
took  breakfast  with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  after- 
wards drove  in  state  to  Westminster. 

On  January  30,  King  Charles's  Day,  the  Lords  went 
in  procession  to  Westminster  Abbey  and  the  Commons 
to  St.  Margaret's,  both  Houses  to  hear  the  Service  of 
Commemoration.     Where  is  that  service  now  ? 

On  Easter  Sunday  the  Eoyal  Family  attended  Divine 
Service  at  St.  James's,  and  received  the  Sacrament. 

On  Easter  Monday  the  Lord  Mayor,  Sheriffs,  and 
Aldermen  went  in  state  to  Christ  Church,  formerly  the 
Church  of  the  Grey  Friars,  and  heard  service.  In  the 
evening  there  was  a  great  banquet,  with  a  ball.  A 
fatiguing  day  for  my  Lord  Mayor. 

Easter  Monday  was  also  the  day  of  the  Epping 
Hunt.  Greenwich  Fair  was  held  on  that  and  the  two 
following  days.  And  in  Easter  week  the  theatres  played 
pieces  for  children. 

On  the  first  Sunday  in  Easter  the  Lord  Mayor  and 
Sheriffs  went  in  state  to  St.  Paul's,  and  had  a  banquet 
afterwards. 

On  May  Day  the  chimney-sweeps  had  their  annual 
holiday. 

On  Ascension  Day  they  made  a  procession  of  parish 

functionaries  and  parochial  schools,  and  beat  the  bounds, 

and,  to  mark  them  well  in  the  memory  of  all,  they  beat 

the  charity  children  who  attended  the  beadle,  and  they 

beat  all  the  boys  they  caught  on  the  wa]^  and  they 

banged    against  the  boundaries  all  the  strangers  who 
4—2 


28 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


passed  within  their  reach.  When  it  oame  to  bancrincr 
the  strangers,  they  had  a  high  old  time. 

On  the  Queen's  Birthday  there  was  a  splendid  pro- 
cession of  stage  coaches  from  Piccadilly  to  tlie  Post 
Office. 

Lastly,    on   ScDtember    3,    Bartholomew   Fair   was 


EVENING    IN    SMITHFIELD 


(Prom  a  Drawing  made  in  1858,  at  the  gateway  leading  into  Cloth  Pair,  the  place  of 
proclamation  of  Bartholomew  Pair) 

opened  by  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  then  followed  what 
our  modern  papers  are  wont  to  call  a  carnival,  but  what 
the  papers  of  1837  called,  without  any  regard  to  pic- 
turesque writing,  a  scene  of  unbridled  profligacy, 
licentiousness,  and  drunkenness,  with  fighting,  both  of 


THE    YEAR   1837  29 

fists  and  cudgels,  pumping  on  pickpockets,  robbery  and 
cheating,  noise  and  shouting,  the  braying  of  trumpets 
and  the  banging  of  drums.  If  you  want  to  know  what 
this  ancient  fair  was  like,  go  visit  the  Agricultural  Hall 
at  Christmas.  They  have  the  foolish  din  and  noise  of 
it,  and  if  the  people  were  drunk,  and  there  were  no 
police,  and  everybody  was  ready  and  most  anxious  to 
fight,  and  the  pickpockets,  thieves,  bullies,  and  black 
guards  were  doing  what  they  pleased,  you  would  have 
Bartholomew  Fair  complete. 


30  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTEE  m. 

LONDON    IN    1837. 

The  extent  of  London  in  1837,  that  is  to  say,  of  close 
and  continuous  London,  may  be  easily  understood  by 
drawing  on  the  map  a  red  line  a  little  above  the  south 
side  of  Eegent's  Park.  This  line  must  be  prolonged 
west  until  it  strikes  the  Edgware  Eoad,  and  eastward 
until  it  strikes  the  Eegent's  Canal,  after  which  it  follows 
the  Canal  until  it  falls  into  the  Eegent's  Canal  Docks. 
This  is,  roughly  speaking,  the  boundary  of  the  great 
city  on  the  north  and  east.  Its  western  boundary  is 
the  lower  end  of  the  Edgware  Eoad,  Park  Lane,  and  a 
line  drawn  from  Hyde  Park  Corner  to  Westminster 
Bridge.  The  river  is  its  southern  boundary,  but  if  you 
wish  to  include  the  Borough,  there  will  be  a  narrow 
fringe  on  the  south  side.  This  was  the  whole  of  London 
proper,  that  is  to  say,  not  the  City  of  London,  or  London 
with  her  suburbs,  but  continuous  London.  If  you  look 
at  Mr  Loftie's  excellent  map  of  London,^  showing  the 
extent  built  upon  at  different  periods,  you  will  find  a 
greater  area  than  this  ascribed  to  London  at  this  period. 
That  is  because  Mr.  Loftie  has  chosen  to  include  many 
parts  which  at  this  time  were  suburbs  of  one  street, 

'  Loftie's  History  of  London.     Stanford,  1884. 


LONDON  IN  1837 


31 


straggling  houses,  with  fields,  nurseries,  and  market- 
gardens.  Thus  Kennington,  Brixton,  and  Camberwell 
are  included.  But  these  suburban  places  were  not  in 
any  sense  part  of  continuous  London.  Open  fields  and 
gardens  were  lying  behind  the  roads ;  at  the  north  end 
of  Kennington  Common — then  a  dreary  expanse  uncared 
for  and  down-trodden — lay  open  ponds  and  fields  ;  there 
were  fields  between  VauxhalL  Gardens  and  the  Oval.  If 
we  look  at  the  north  of  London, 
there  were  no  houses  round  Prim- 
rose Hill ;  fields  stretched  north  and 
east ;  to  the  west  one  or  two  roads 
were  already  pushing  out,  such  as 
the  Abbey  Eoad  and  Avenue  Eoad  ; 
through  the  pleasant  fields  of  Kil- 
burn,  where  still  stood  the  pictur- 
esque fragments  of  Kilburn  Priory, 
the  Bayswater  rivulet  ran  pleasantly ; 
it  was  joined  by  two  other  brooks, 

^  -r     ,         ,        -vxT  1  1  FIKEMAN 

one  rismsj  m  St.  Johns  Wood,  and 
flowing  through  what  are  now  called  Craven  Gardens 
into  the  Serpentine.  On  Haverstock  Hill  were  a  few 
villas  ;  Chalk  Farm  still  had  its  farm  buildings  ;  Belsize 
House,  with  its  park  and  lake,  was  the  nearest  house  to 
Primrose  Hill.  A  few  houses  showed  the  site  of  Kentish 
Town,  while  Camden  Town  was  then  a  village,  clustered 
about  its  High  Street  in  the  Hampstead  Eoad.  Even 
the  York  and  Albany  Tavern  looked  out  back  and  front 
on  fields ;  Mornington  Crescent  gazed  across  its  garden 


32  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

upon  open  fields  and  farms  ;  the  great  burial-ground  of 
St.  James's  Church  had  fields  at  the  back ;  behmd  St. 
Pancras'  Churchyard  stretched  '  Mr.  Agar's  Farm ;  * 
IsUngton  was  little  more  than  a  single  street,  with 
houses  on  either  side ;  Bagnigge  Wells — it  stood  at  the 
north-east  of  St.  Andrew's  Burying-ground  in  Gray's 
Inn  Eoad — was  still  in  full  swing  ;  Hoxton  had  some  of 
its  old  houses  still  standing,  with  the  Haberdashers' 
Almshouses ;  the  rest  was  laid  out  in  nurseries  and 
gardens.  King's  Cross  was  Battle  Bridge  ;  and  Penton- 
ville  was  only  in  its  infancy. 

Looking  at  this  comparatively  narrow  area,  consider 
the  enormous  growth  of  fifty  years.  What  was  Bow  ? 
A  little  village.  What  was  Stratford,  now  a  town  of 
70,000  people?  There  was  no  Stratford.  Bromley 
was  a  waste ;  Dalston,  Clapham,  Hackney,  Tottenham, 
Canonbury,  Barnsbury — these  were  mere  villages  ;  now 
they  are  great  and  populous  towns.  But  perhaps  the 
change  is  more  remarkable  still  when  one  considers  the 
West  End.  All  that  great  cantlet  lying  between  Mary- 
lebone  Road  and  Oxford  Street  was  then  much  in  the 
same  state  as  now,  though  with  some  difference  in  detail; 
thus,  one  is  surprised  to  find  that  the  south  of  Blandford 
Square  was  occupied  by  a  great  nursery.  But  west  of 
Edgware  Eoad  there  was  next  to  nothing.  Connaught 
Square  was  already  built,  and  the  ground  between  the 
Grand  Junction  Road  and  the  Bayswater  Road  was  just 
laid  out  for  building ;  but  the  great  burying-ground  of 
St.  George's,  now  hidden  from  view  and  built  round. 


LONDON  IN  1837  33 

was  in  fields.  The  whole  length  of  the  Bayswater  Road 
ran  along  market- gardens ;  a  few  houses  stood  in  St. 
Petersburg  Place;  Westbourne  Green  had  hardly  a 
cottage  on  it ;  Westbourne  Park  was  a  green  enclosure ; 
there  were  no  houses  on  Notting  Hill ;  Campden  Hill 
had  only  one  or  two  great  houses,  and  a  field-path  led 
pleasantly  from  Westbourne  Green  to  the  Kensington 
Gravel  Pits. 

On  the  west  and  south-west  the  Neat  Houses,  with 
their  gardens,  occupied  the  ground  west  of  Vauxhall 
Bridge.  Earl's  Court,  with  its  great  gardens  and  mound, 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  now  crowded  and  dreary 
suburb;  south  of  the  Park  stood  many  great  houses, 
such  as  Eutland  House,  now  destroyed  and  replaced  by 
terraces  and  squares.  But  though  London  was  then  so 
small  compared  with  its  present  extent,  it  was  already 
a  most  creditable  city.  Those  who  want  more  figures 
will  be  pleased  to  read  that  at  the  census  of  1831  London 
contained  14,000  acres,  or  nearly  twenty-two  square 
miles.  This  area  was  divided  into  153  parishes,  con- 
taining 10,000  streets  and  courts  and  250,000  houses. 
Its  population  was  1,646,288.  Fifty  years  before  it  was 
half  that  number,  fifty  years  later  it  was  double  that 
number.  We  may  take  the  population  of  the  year  1837 
as  two  millions. 

More  figures.  There  were  90,000  passengers  across 
London  Bridge  every  day,  there  were  1,200  cabriolets, 
600  hackney  coaches,  and  400  omnibuses  ;  there  were 
30,000  deaths  annually.      The  visitors  every  year  were 


34 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


estimated  at  12,000.  Among  the  residents  were  130,000 
Scotchmen,  200,000  Irish,  and  30,000  French.  These 
figures  convey  to  my  own  mind  very  httle  meaning,  but 

they  look  big,  and  so  I  have  put 
them  down.  Speaking  roughly, 
London  fifty  years  ago  was  twice 
as  big  as  Paris  is  now,  or  the 
present  New  York. 

As  for  the  buildings  of  Lon- 
don proper,  fifty  years  have 
Avitnessed  many  changes,  and 
have  brought  many  losses — more 
losses,  perhaps,  than  gains.  The 
Eoyal  Exchange,  built  by  Edward 
Jerman  in  place  of  Sir  Thomas 
Gresham's  of  1570,  was  burnt  to 
the  ground  on  January  10, 1838.  The  present  building, 
designed  by  Sir  WilUam  Tite,  was  opened  by  the  Queen 


HACKITOY    COACHMAN 

(From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruik- 
shank  in  '  Loudoa  Characters') 


THE    riEST    LONDON    EXCHANGE 


in  person  on  October  28, 1844.    Jerman's  Exchange  was 
a  quadrangular  building,  with  a  clock-tower  of  timber 


LONDON  IN  1837  35 

on  the  Cornliill  side.  It  had  an  inner  cloister  and  a 
'  pawn,'  or  gallery,  above  for  the  sale  of  fancy  goods.  It 
was  decorated  by  a  series  of  statues  of  the  Kings,  from 


THE    SECOND    LONDON    EXCHANGE 

Edward  I.  to  George  W.     Sion  College,  which  until  the 
other  day  stood  in  the  street  called  London  Wall,  was 


THE  PRESENT  KOTAL  EXCHANGE  (tHIED  LONDON  EXCHANGE) 

not  yet  wantonly  and  wickedly  destroyed  by  those  who 
should  have  been  its  natural  and  official  protectors,  the 
London  clergy. 


36  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

Tilings  happen  so  quickly  that  one  easily  forgets ; 
yet  let   me    pay  a    farewell   tribute   and    drop   a  tear 
to   the   memory  of  the   most   delightful   spot   in   the 
whole  of  London.     The  building  was  not  of  extreme 
age,  but  it  stood  upon  the  ancient  site  of  Elsinge  Spital, 
which   itself  stood  upon  the  site  of  the  old  Cripple- 
gate   Nunnery;    it  was    founded  in  1623  by  the  will 
of  one  Dr.  Thomas  White,  Vicar  of  St.  Dunstan's-in- 
the-West ;  the  place  was  damaged  by  the  Great  Fire, 
and  little  of  the  building  was  older,  I  believe,  than  1690, 
or  thereabouts.      But  one  stepped  out  of  the  noise  and 
hurry  of  the  very  heart  of  London  into  a  courtyard 
where  the  air  was  instantly  hushed ;  on  the  right  hand 
were  the  houses  of  the  almsmen  and  women,  though  1 
believe  they  had  of  late  ceased  to  occupy  them.    Above 
the  almshouses  was  the  long  narrow  library  crammed 
with  books,   the  sight   and   fragrance   of   which   filled 
the  grateful  soul  with  joy.      On  the  left  side  of  the 
court  was  the  Hall  used  for  meetings,  and  open  all  day 
to  the  London  clergy  for  reading  the  magazines,  reviews, 
and  papers.     A  quiet,  holy  place.     Fuller   wrote  his 
'  Church  History '  in  this  college  ;  the  illustrious  Psalma- 
nazar  wrote  here  his  '  Universal  History ' — it  was  after 
he  repented  of  his  colossal  lies,  and  had  begun  to  live 
cleanly.      Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  witnessed 
a  long  succession  of  London  clergymen,  learned  and 
devout  most  of  them,  reading  in  this  library  and  meet- 
ing in  this  hall.    Now  it  is  pulled  down,  and  a  huge  ware- 
house occupies  its  place.     The  London  clergy  them- 


LONDON  IN  1837 


37 


selves,  for  the  sake  of  gain,  have  sold  it.  And,  as  for 
the  garish  thing  they  have  stuck  up  on  the  Embank- 
ment, they  may  call  it  what  they  like,  but  it  is  not  Sion 
College. 

Another  piece  of  wanton  wickedness  was  the  de- 
struction of  Northumberland  House.  It  is,  of  course, 
absurd  to  say  that  its  removal  was  required.  The  re- 
moval of  a  great  historic  house  can  never  be  required. 
It  was  the  last  of  the  great  houses,  with  the  exception 


'Lifeli!^*!^; 


CHARING    CROSS    IN    THE    PRESENT    DAT 


of  Somerset  House,  and  that  is  nearly  all  modern, 
having  been  erected  in  1776-1786  on  the  site  of  the 
old  palace. 

The  Strand,  indeed,  is  very  much  altered  since  the 
year  1837.  At  the  west  end  the  removal  of  ISTorthum- 
berland  House  has  been  followed  by  the  building  of  the 


38 


FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 


Grand  Hotel,  and  the  opening  of  the  Northumberland 
Avenue  :  the  Charing  Cross  Station  and  Hotel  have 
been  erected  :  two  or  three  new  theatres  have  been 
added :  Temple  Bar  has  been  taken  down — in  any  other 
country  the  old  gate  would  have  been  simply  left  stand- 
ing, because  it  was  an  ancient  historical  monument ; 
they  would  have  spared  it  and  made  a  roadway  oh 
either  side ;  the  rookeries  which  formerly  stood  on  the 


TEMPLE    BAB 


north  side  close  to  the  Bar  have  been  swept  away,  and 
the  Law  Courts  stand  in  their  place — where  the  rooks 
are  gone  it  is  impossible  to  say.  I  myself  dimly 
remember  a  labyrinth  of  lanes,  streets,  and  courts  on 
this  site.  They  were  inhabited,  I  believe,  by  low-class 
solicitors,  money-lenders,  racing  and  betting  men,  and 
by  all  kinds  of  adventurers.  Did  not  Mr.  Altamont 
have  chambers  here,  when  he  visited  Captain  Costigan 


LONDON  IN  1837  '  39 

in  Lyons  Inn  ?     Lyons  Inn  itself  is  pulled  clown,  and  on 
its  site  is  the  Globe  Theatre. 

As  for  churches,  there  has  been  such  an  enormous 
increase  of  churches  in  the  last  fifty  years,  that  it  seems 
churlish  to  lament  the  loss  of  half  a  dozen.  But  this 
half-dozen  belongs  to  the  City :  they  were  churches 
built,  for  the  most  part,  by  Wren,  on  the  site  of  ancient 
churches  destroyed   in  the  Fire ;    they  were  all   hal- 


THE  ROYAL  COURTS  OF  JUSTICE 


lowed  by  old  and  sacred  associations ;  many  of  them 
were  interesting  and  curious  for  their  architecture :  in 
a  w^ord,  they  ought  not  to  have  been  pulled  down  in 
order  to  raise  hideous  warehouses  over  their  site.  Greed 
of  gain  prevailed ;  and  they  are  gone.  People  found 
out  that  their  number  of  worshippers  was  small,  and 
argued  that  there  was  no  longer  any  use  for  them.     So 


40  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

they  are  gone,  and  can  never  be  replaced.  As  for  their 
names,  they  were  the  churches  of  Allhallows,  Broad 
Street ;  St.  Benet's,  Gracechurch  Street ;  St.  Dionis 
Backchurch  ;  St.  Michael's,  Queenhithe  ;  St.  Antholin's, 
Budge  Row ;  St.  Bene't  Fink  ;  St.  Mary  Somerset ;  St. 
Mary  Magdalen  ;  and  St.  Matthew,  Friday  Street.  The 
church  of  St.  Michael,  Crooked  Lane,  in  which  was 
the  grave  of  Sir  William  Walworth,  disappeared  in  the 
year  1831  ;  those  of  St  Bartholomew  by  Eastcheap, 
and  of  St.  Christopher-le-Stock,  which  stood  on  either 
side  of  the  Bank,  were  taken  down  in  the  years  1802 
and  1781  respectively.  The  site  of  these  old  churches 
is  generally  marked  by  a  small  enclosure,  grown  over 
with  thin  grass,  containing  one,  or  at  most  two,  tombs. 
It  is  about  the  size  of  a  dining-room  table,  and  you 
may  read  of  it  that  the  burying-ground  of  Saint  So-and- 
so  is  still  preserved.  Indeed  !  Were  the  City  church- 
yards of  such  dimensions  ?  The  '  preservation  '  of  tlie 
burial-grounds  is  like  the  respect  which  used  to  be  paid 
to  the  First  Day  of  the  week  in  the  early  lustra  of  the 
Victorian  Age  by  the  tobacconist.  He  kept  one  shutter 
up.  So  the  desecrators  of  the  City  churchyards,  God's 
acre,  the  holy  ground  filled  with  the  bones  of  dead 
citizens,  measured  off  a  square  yard  or  tvro,  kept  one 
tomb,  and  built  their  warehouses  over  all  the  rest. 

All  round  London  the  roads  were  blocked  everywhere 
by  turnpikes.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  the  annoy- 
ance of  being  stopped  continually  to  show  a  pass  or  to 
pay  the  pike.     Thus,  there  \vere  two  or  three  turnpikes 


LONDON  IN  1837 


41 


in  what  is  now  called  the  Euston  Koad,  and  was  then 
the  New  Road  ;  one  of  them  was  close  to  Great  Portland 
Street,  another  at  Gower  Street.  At  Battle  Bridge, 
which  is  now  King's  Cross,  there  w^ere  two,  one  on  the 
east,  and  one  on  the  west ;  there  was  a  pike  in  St.  John 
Street,  Clerkenwell.     There  were  two  in  the  City  Road, 


LYONS    INN    IN    ISO! 

(From  an  Engraving  in  Herbert's  'History  of  tiie  Inns  of  Court') 


and  one  in  New  North  Road,  Hoxton ;  one  at  Shoreditch, 
one  in  Bethnal  Green  Road,  one  in  Commercial  Road. 
No  fewer  than  three  in  East  India  Dock  Road,  three  in 
the  Old  Kent  Road,  one  in  Bridge  Street,  Vauxhall ;  one 
in  Great  Surrey  Street,  near  the  Obelisk ;  one  at  Kenning- 
ton  Church — what  man  turned  of  forty  cannot  remember 


42 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


the  scene  at  tlie  turnpike  on  Derby  Day,  when  hundreds 
of  carriages  would  be  stopped  while  the  pikenian  was 
fighting  for  his  fee  ?  There  was  a  turnpike  named  after 
Tyburn,  close  to  Marble  Arch  ;  another  at  the  beginning 
of  Kensington  Gardens  ;  one  at  St.  James's  Church, 
Hampstead  Road.  Ingenious  persons  knew  how  to 
avoid  the  pike  by  making  a  long  detour. 

The  turnpike  has  gone,  and  the  pikeman  with  his 


KENNINGTON    GATE  — DERBY    DAY 


apron  has  gone — nearly  everybody's  apron  has  gone 
too — and  the  gates  have  been  removed.  That  is  a  clear 
gain.  But  there  are  also  losses.  What,  for  instance, 
has  become  of  all  the  baths?  Surely  we  have  not,  as 
a  nation,  ceased  to  desire  cleanliness  ?  Yet  in  reading 
the  list  of  the  London  baths  fifty  years  ago  one  cannot 
choose  but  ask  the  question.  St.  Annice-le-Clair  used 
to    be    a   medicinal    spring,    considered    efficacious   in 


LONDON  IN  1837 


43 


rheumatic  cases.  Who  stopped  that  spring  and  built 
upon  its  site  ?  The  Peerless  Pool  close  beside  it  was 
the  best  swimming  bath  in  all  London.  When  was 
that  filled  up  and  built  over  ?  Where  are  St.  Chad's 
Wells  now  ?  Formerly  they  were  in  Gray's  Inn  Road, 
near  'Battle  Bridge,'  which  is  now  King's  Cross,  and 
their  waters  saved  many  an  apothecary's  bill.     There 


THE    OLD    ROMAN    BATH    IN    THE    STRAND 

were  swimming  baths  in  Shepherdess  Walk,  near  the 
almshouses.  When  were  they  destroyed  ?  There  was 
another  in  Cold  Bath  Fields  ;  the  spring,  a  remarkably 
cold  one,  still  runs  into  a  bath  of  marble  slabs,  repre- 
sented to  have  been  laid  for  Mistress  Nell  Gwynne  in 
the  days  of  the  Merry  Monarch.  Curiously,  the  list 
from  which  I  am  quoting  does  not  mention  the  most 


44  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

delightful  bath  of  all— the  old  Roman  Bath  in  the 
Strand.  I  remember  making  the  acquaintance  of  this 
bath  long  ago,  in  the  fifties,  being  then  a  student  at 
King's.  The  water  is  icy  cold,  but  fresh  and  bright, 
and  always  running.  The  place  is  never  crowded ; 
hardly  anybody  seems  to  know  that  here,  in  the  heart 
of  London,  is  a  monument  of  Roman  times,  to  visit 
which,  if  it  were  at  Aries  or  Avignon,  people  would  go 
all  the  way  from  London.  Some  day,  no  doubt,  we 
shall  hear  that  it  has  been  sold  and  destroyed,  like  Sion 
College,  and  the  spring  built  over. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN     THE    STREET. 

Let  us,  friend  Eighty-seven,  take  a  walk  down  the 
Strand  on  this  fine  April  afternoon  of  Thirty-seven. 
First,  however,  you  must  alter  your  dress  a  little.  Put 
on  this  swallow-tail  coat,  with  the  high  velvet  collar — 
it  is  more  becoming  than  the  sporting  coat  in  green 
bulging  out  over  the  hips ;  change  your  light  tie  and 
masher  collar  for  this  beautiful  satin  stock  and  this 
double  breastpin ;  put  on  a  velvet  waistcoat  and  an 
under-waistcoat  of  cloth  ;  thin  Cossack  trousers  with 
straps  will  complete  your  costume ;  turn  your  shirt 
cuffs  back  outside  the  coat  sleeve,  carry  your  gloves  in 
youi  hand.,  and  take  your  cane.  You  are  now,  dear 
Eighty-seven,  transformed  into  the  dandy  of  fifty  years 
ago,  and  will  not  excite  any  attention  as  we  walk  along 
the  street. 

We  will  start  from  Charing  Cross  and  will  walk 
towards  the  City.  You  cannot  remember,  Eighty-seven, 
the  King's  Mews  that  stood  here  on  the  site  of  Trafalgar 
Square.  When  it  is  completed,  with  the  National 
Gallery  on  the  north  side^  the  monument  and  statue  of 
Nelson,  the  fountains  and  statues  that  they  talk  about, 
there  will  be  a  very  fine  square.     And  we  have  cer- 


46 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


tainly  got  rid  of  a  group  of  mean  and  squalid  streets 
to  make  room  for  the  square.  It  is  lucky  that  they 
have  left  Northumberland  House,  the  last  of  the  great 
palaces  that  once  lined  the  Strand. 


LOXlxiX    srFvKET    CHARACTllliS,    1S27 

(From  a  Drawing  by  John  Leech) 


The  Strand  looks  very  much  as  it  will  in  your  time, 
though  the  shop  fronts  are  not  by  any  means  so  fine. 
There  is  no  Charing  Cross  Station  or  Northumberland 
Avenue ;    most    of   the  shops  have  bow  windows  and 


IN  THE  STREET 


47 


there  is  no  plate-glass,  but  instead,  small  panes  such 
as  you  will  only  see  here  and  there  in  your  time.  The 
people,  however,  have  a  surprisingly  different  appear- 
ance. The  ladies,  because  the  east  wind  is  cold,  still 
keep  to  their  fur  tippets,  their  thick  shawls,  and  have 
their  necks  wrapped  round  with  boas,  the  ends  of 
which  hang  down  to  their  skirts,  a  fashion  revived  by 


THE    king's    mews    IN    1750 

(From  a  Print  by  I.  Maurer) 

yourself;  their  bonnets  are  remarkable  structures,  like 
an  ornamental  coal-scuttle  of  the  Thirty-seven,  not  the 
Eighty-seven,  period,  and  some  of  them  are  of  sur- 
prising dimensions,  and  decorated  with  an  amazing  pro- 
fusion of  ribbons  and  artificial  flowers.  Their  sleeves 
are  shaped  like  a  leg  of  mutton ;  their  shawls  are  like 
a   dining-room    carpet    of    the    time — not   like   your 

dining-room    carpet,   Eighty-seven,   but    a    carpet    of 
6 


48 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


flaunting  colour,  crimson  and  scarlet  which  would 
"■ive  you  a  headache.  But  the  curls  of  the  younger 
ladies  are  not  without  their  charms,  and  their  eyes 
are  as  bright  as  those  of  their  grandchildren,  are 
they  not? 

Let   us    stand    still    awhile    and  watch  the   throng 
where  the  tide  of  life,  as  Johnson  said,  is  the  fullest. 


BARBACK    AND    OLD    HOUSES    ON    THE    SITE    OF   TRAFALGAR   SQUARK 
(From  a  Drawing  made  by  F.  W.  Fairholt  in  1826) 

Here  comes,  with  a  roll  intended  for  a  military 
swagger,  the  cheap  dandy.  I  know  not  what  he  is  by 
trade ;  he  is  too  old  for  a  medical  student,  not  shabby 
enough  for  an  attorney's  clerk,  and  not  respectable 
enough  for  a  City  clerk.  Is  it  possible  that  he  is  a 
young  gentleman  of  very  small  fortune  which  he  is 
running  through  ?     He  wears  a  tall  hat  broader  at  the 


IN  THE  STREET 


49 


top  than  at  the  bottom,  he  carries  white  thread  gloves, 
sports  a  cane,  has  his  trousers  tightly  strapped,  wears  a 
tremendously  high  stock,  with  a  sham  diamond  pin,  a 
coat  with  a  velvet  collar,  and  a  double-breasted  waist- 
coat. His  ricfht  hand  is  stuck — it  is  an  agorressive 
attitude — in  his  coat-tail  pocket.  The  little  old  gentle- 
man who  follows  him,  in  black  shorts  and  white  silk 
stockings,  will  be  gone 
before  your  time ;  so  will 
yonder  still  more  ancient 
gentleman  in  powdered 
hair  and  pigtail  who  walks 
slowly  along.  Pigtails  in 
your  time  will  be  clean 
forgotten  as  well  as  black 
silk  shorts. 

Do  you  see  that  thin, 
spare  gentleman  in  tlie 
cloak,  riding  slo^vly  along 
the  street  followed  by  a 
mounted     servant  ?      The 

people  all  take  off  their  hats  respectfully  to  him,  and 
country  folk  gaze  upon  Iiim  curiously.  That  is  the 
Duke.  There  is  only  one  Duke  to  the  ordinary  Briton. 
It  is  the  Duke  with  the  liook  nose — the  Iron  Duke — 
the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

The  new-fashioned  cabriolet,  with  a  seat  at  the  side 
for  the  driver  and  a  high  hood  for  the  fare,  is  light  and 
swift,  but  it  is  not  beautiful  nor  is  it  popular.     The 


THE    LAST    CABRIOLET    DRIVER 

(From  tlie  Drawing  by  George  Cruiksbank 
in  '  Sketches  by  Boz ') 


50  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

wheels  are  too  high  and  the  machine  is  too  narrow. 
It  is  always  upsetting,  and  bringing  its  passengers  to 
grief. 

Here  is  one  of  the  new  pohce,  with  blue  swallow- 
tail coat  tightly  buttoned,  and  white  trousers.  They 
are  reported  to  be  mightily  unpopular  with  the  light- 
fingered  gentry,  with  whose  pursuits  they  are  always 
interfering  in  a  manner  unknown  to  the  ancient 
Charley. 

Here  comes  a  gentleman,  darkly  and  mysteriously 
clad  in  a  fur-lined  cloak,  fastened  at  his  neck  by  a  brass 
buckle,  and  falling  to  his  feet,  such  a  cloak  as  in  your 
time  will  only  be  used  to  enwrap  the  villains  in  a 
burlesque.  But  here  no  one  takes  any  notice  of  it. 
There  goes  a  man  who  may  have  been  an  officer,  an 
actor,  a  literary  man,  a  gambler — anything ;  whatever 
he  was,  he  is  now  broken-down — his  face  is  pale,  his 
gait  is  shuffling,  his  elbows  are  gone,  his  boots  are 
giving  at  the  toes,  and— see— the  stout  red-faced  man 
with  the  striped  waistcoat  and  the  bundle  of  seals 
hanging  at  his  fob  has  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 
That  is  a  sheriff's  officer,  and  he  will  now  be  conducted, 
after  certain  formahties,  to  the  King's  Bench  or  the 
Fleet,  and  in  this  happy  retreat  he  will  probably  pass 
the  remainder  of  his  days.  Here  comes  a  middle-aged 
gentleman  who  looks  almost  like  a  coachman  in  his 
coat  with  many  capes  and  his  purple  cheeks.  That  is 
the  famous  coaching  baronet,  than  whom  no  better 
w^hip  has  ever  been  seen  upon  the  road.     Here  come  a 


IN  THE  STREET  51 

pair  of  young  bloods  who  scorn  cloaks  and  greatcoats. 
How  bravely  do  they  tread  in  their  tight  trousers, 
bright-coloured  waistcoats,  and  high  satin  stocks !  with 
what  a  jaunty  air  do  they  tilt  their  low-crowned  hats 
over  their  long  and  waving  locks — you  can  smell  the 
bear's  urease  across  the  road !  with  what  a  flourish  do 
they  bear  their  canes !  Here  comes  swaggering  along 
the  pavement  a  military  gentleman  in  a  coat  much  be- 
frogged.  He  has  the  appearance  of  one  who  knows 
Chalk  Farm,  which  is  situated  among  meadows  where 
the  morning  air  has  been  known  to  prove  suddenly 
fatal  to  many  gallant  gentlemen.  How  he  swings  his 
shoulders  and  squares  his  elbows !  and  how  the  peaceful 
passengers  make  room  for  him  to  pass  !  He  is,  no 
doubt,  an  old  Peninsular ;  there  are  still  many  like  unto 
him ;  he  is  the  ruffling  Captain  known  to  Queen  EUza- 
beth's  time ;  in  the  last  century  he  took  the  wall  and 
shoved  everybody  into  the  gutter.  Presently  he  will 
turn  into  the  Cigar  Divan — he  learned  to  smoke  cigars 
in  Spain — in  the  rooms  of  what  was  once  the  Eepository 
of  Art ;  we  breathe  more  freely  when  he  is  gone. 

Here  comes  a  great  hulking  sailor ;  his  face  beams 
with  honesty,  he  rolls  in  his  gait,  he  hitches  up  his  wide 
trousers,  he  wears  his  shiny  hat  at  the  back  of  his  head  ; 
his  hair  hangs  in  ringlets  ;  he  chews  a  quid ;  under  his 
arm  is  a  parcel  tied  in  red  bandanna.  He  looks  as  if 
he  were  in  some  perplexity.  Sighting  one  who  appears 
to  be  a  gentleman  recently  from  the  country,  he  beara 
down  upon  him. 


52 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


'  Noble  captain,'  he  wliispers  hoarsely,  '  if  yoii  like, 
here's  a  chance  that  doesn't  come  everyday.  For  whyF 
I've  got  to  go  to  sea  again,  and  though  they're  smuggled 
— I  smuggled  them  myself,  your  honour — and  worth 
their  weight  in  gold,  you  sliall  have  the  box  for  thirty 

shiliin'.  Say  the  word,  my  cap- 
tain, and  come  round  the  corner 
with  me.' 

Honest  tar !     Shall  we  meet 

him    to-morrow   with    another 

parcel   tied  in   tlie  same    ban- 

~y^WM  ^11%^      "        danna,   his    face    screwed    up 

with  the  same  perplexity  and 
anxiety  to  get  rid  of  his  valu- 
^-sa      able    burden?      You   yourself, 
A  GREENWICH  PENsioNEK         Eighty-scvcn,    will    have   your 

(From  a  Drawing  by  Georgre  Cruik-        OOnfidcnCP       tvick         VOUr       rinO". 
shauk  in 'LouJou  Characters')  OUililUClH.e        llH^iS.,       Jt^Ul        -lilJj^ 

dropper,  your  tliimble-and-pea, 
your  fat  partridge-seller,  even  though  the  bold  smuggler 
be  no  more. 

In  the  matter  of  street  music  we  of  Thirty-seven  are 
perhaps  in  advance  of  you  of  Eighty- seven.  We  have 
not,  it  is  true,  the  pianoforte-organ,  but  we  have  al- 
ready the  other  two  varieties — the  Eumbling  Droner 
and  the  Light  Tinkler.  We  have  not  yet  the  street 
nigger,  or  the  banjo,  or  the  band  of  itinerant  blacks, 
or  Christy's  Minstrels.  The  negro  minstrel  does  not 
exist  in  any  form.  But  the  ingenious  Mr.  Eice  is  at 
this  very  moment    studying   the   plantation   songs   of 


IN   THE  STREET 


53 


South  Carolina,  and  we  can  already  witness  his  humor- 
ous personation  of  '  Jump,  Jim  Crow,'  and  his  pathetic 
ballad  of  '  Lucy  Neal.'  (He  made  his  first  appearance 
at  the  Adelphi  as  Jim  Crow  in  1836.)  We  have,  like 
you,  the  Christian  family  in  reduced  circumstances, 
creeping  slowly,  hand  in  hand,  along  the  streets,  sing- 
ing a  hymn  the  while  for  the  consolation  it  affords. 
They  have  not  yet  invented  Moody  and  Sankey,  and 
therefore  they  cannot  sing  '  Hold  the  Fort '  or  '  Dare 
to  be  a  Daniel,'  but  there  are  hymns  in  every  collection 


Xv 


AN    OMNIBUS    UPSET 
(From  Cruiksliauk's  '  Comic  Almanack') 


which  suit  the  Gridler.  We  have  also  the  ballad- 
singer,  wlio  warbles  at  the  door  of  the  gin-palace.  His 
favourite  song  just  now  is  '  All  round  my  Hat.'  We 
have  the  lady  (or  gentleman)  who  takes  her  (or  his) 
place  upon  the  kerb  with  a  guitar,  adorned  with  red 
ribbon,  and  sings  a  sentimental  song,  such  as  '  Speed 
on,  my  Mules,  for  Leila  waits  for  me,'  or  '  Gaily  the 
Troubadour  ; '  there  is  the  street  seller  of  ballads  at  a 
penny  each,  a  taste  of  which  he  gives  the  delighted 
listener  ;    there   are   the   horns   of  stage-coach   and   of 


54 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


omnibus,  blown  with  zeal;  there  is  the  bell  of  the  crier, 
exercised  as  religiously  as  that  of  the  railway-porter  ; 
the  Pandean  pipes  and  the  drum  walk,  not  only  with 
Punch,  but  also  with  the  dancing  bear.  The  perform- 
ing dogs,  the  street  acrobats,  and   the  fantoccini ;  the 


KXETER    CHAMGE 


noble  Highlander  not  only  stands  outside  the  tobac- 
conist's, taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  but  he  also  parades 
the  street,  blowing  a  most  patriotic  tune  upon  his  bag- 
pipe ;  the  butcher  serenades  his  young  mistress  with 
the  cleaver  and  the  bones  ;  tlie  Italian  boy  delights  all 
the  ears  of  those  who  hear  with  his  hurdy-gurdy. 


JN  THE  STREET  55 

Here  comes  the  Paddington  omnibus,  the  first  omni- 
bus of  all,  started  seven  years  ago  by  Mr.  Shillibeer,  the 
father  of  all  those  which  have  driven  the  short  stages 
off  the  road,  and  now  ply  in  every  street.  You  will  not 
fail  to  observe  that  the  knifeboard  has  not  yet  been  in- 
vented. There  are  twelve  passengers  inside  and  none 
out.  The  conductor  is  already  remarkable  for  his 
truthfulness,  his  honesty,  and  his  readiness  to  take  up 
any  lady  and  to  deposit  her  within  ten  yards  of  wher- 
ever she  wishes  to  be.  The  fare  is  sixpence,  and  you 
must  wait  for  ten  years  before  you  get  a  twopenny 
'bus. 

Now  let  us  resume  our  walk.  The  Strand  is  very 
little  altered,  you  think.  Already  Exeter  Change  is 
gone ;  Exeter  Hall  is  already  built ;  the  shops  are  less 
splendid,  and  plate  glass  is  as  yet  unknown ;  in  Holy- 
well Street  I  can  show  you  one  or  two  of  the  old  signs 
still  on  the  house  walls ;  Butcher  Eow,  behind  St.  Cle- 
ment Danes,  is  pulled  down  and  the  street  widened  ;  on 
the  north  side  there  is  standing  a  nest  of  rookeries  and 
mean  streets,  where  you  will  have  your  Law  Courts  ; 
here  is  Temple  Bar,  which  you  will  miss ;  close  to 
Temple  Bar  is  the  little  fish  shop  which  once  belonged 
to  Mr.  Crockford,  the  proprietor  of  the  famous  club ; 
the  street  messengers  standing  about  in  their  white 
aprons  will  be  gone  in  your  time ;  for  that  matter,  so 
will  the  aprons ;  at  present  every  other  man  in  the 
street  wears  an  apron.  It  is  a  badge  of  his  rank  and 
station ;  the  apron  marks  the  mechanic  or  the  servinf^- 


56 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


man ;  some  wear  white  aprons  and  some  wear  leather 
aprons ;  I  am  afraid  you  will  miss  the  apron. 

Fleet  Street   is   much    more   picturesque  than    the 


'^Pi^^h 


■\  ''^L.'i-^-is-rtulcsW  k 


THE    PARISH    ENGINE 
(From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruikshauk  in    Sketches  by  Boz') 

Strand,  is  it  not?  Even  in  your  day,  Eighty-seven, 
when  so  many  old  houses  will  have  perished,  Fleet  Street 
will  still  be  the  most  picturesque  street  in  all  London. 


1 


VI  v^'^-i 


IN  THE  STREET 


57 


The  true  time  to  visit  it  is  at  four  o'clock  on  a  summer 
morning,  when  the  sun  has  just  risen  on  the  sleeping 
city.  Look  at  the  gables  of  it,  the  projecting  stories 
of  it,  the  old  timber  work  of  it,  the  glory  and   the 


CROCKFORD  S    FISH    SHOP 
( From  a  Drawing  by  F.  W.  Fairbolt) 


beauty  of  it.     As  you  see  Fleet  Street,  so  Dr.  Johnson 
saw  it. 

There  is  a  good  deal  more  crowd  and  animation  in 
Fleet  Street  than  in  the  Strand.  That  is  because  we 
are  nearer  the  City,  of  course ;  the  traffic  is  greater  ; 


58  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

the  noise  is  much  greater.  As  for  this  ring  before  us, 
let  lis  avoid  it.  A  coachman  fighting  a  ticket-porter 
is  a  daily  spectacle  in  this  thoroughfare  ;  those  who 
crowd  round  often  get  bloody  noses  for  their  pains, 
and  still  more  ofren  come  away  without  their  purses. 
Look !  The  pickpockets  are  at  their  work  almost 
openly.  They  have  caught  one.  Well,  my  friend,  our 
long  silk  purses — yours  will  be  square  leather  things — 
are  very  easily  stolen.  I  do  not  think  it  will  repay  you 
for  the  loss  of  yours  to  see  a  poor  devil  of  a  pickpocket 
pumped  upon. 

You  are  looking  again  at  the  plain  windows  with 
the  small  square  panes.  The  shops  make  no  display  as 
yet,  you  see.  First,  it  would  not  be  safe  to  put  valuable 
articles  in  windows  protected  by  nothing  but  a  little 
thin  pane  of  glass — which  reminds  me  that  in  the  matter 
of  street  safety  you  will  be  a  good  deal  ahead  of  us ; 
next,  an  honest  English  tradesman  loves  to  keep  his 
best  out  of  sight.  The  streets  are  horribly  noisy.  That 
is  quite  true.  You  have  heard  of  the  roar  of  the 
mighty  city.  Your  London,  Eighty-seven,  will  not 
know  how  to  roar.  But  you  can  now  understand  what 
its  roaring  used  to  be.  An  intolerable  stir  and  uproar, 
is  it  not  ?  But  then  your  ears  are  not,  like  ours,  used 
to  it.  First,  the  road  is  not  macadamised,  or  asphalted, 
or  paved  with  wood.  Next,  the  traffic  of  wagons,  carts, 
and  wheelbarrows,  and  hand-carts,  is  vastly  greater 
than  you  had  ever  previously  imagined ;  then  there  is 
a  great  deal  more   of  porter  work  done  in  the  street. 


IN  THE  STREET 


59 


and  the  men  are  perpetually  jostling,  quarrelling,  and 
fighting ;  the  coaches,  those  of  the  short  stages  with 
two  horses,  and  the  long  stages  with  four,  are  always 
blowing  their  horns  and  cracking  their  whips.  Look 
at-  yonder  great  wagon.  It  has  come  all  the  way  from 
Scotland.  It  is  piled  thirty  feet  high  with  packages  of 
all  kinds  :  baskets  hang  behind,  filled  with  all  kinds  of 
things.  In  front  there  sit  a  couple  of  Scotch  lasses 
who  have  braved  a  three  weeks'  journey  from  Edin- 
burgh in  order  to  save  the  expense  of  the  coach.  Brave 
girls  !  But  such  a  wagon  with  such  a  load  does  not  go 
along  the  street  in  silence.  It  is  not  in  silence  either 
that  the  women  who  carry  baskets  full  of  fish  on  their 
heads  go  along  the  street,  nor  is  the  man  silent  who  goes 
with  a  pack-donkey  loaded  on  either  side  with  small  coal ; 
and  the  wooden  sledge  on  which  is  the  cask  of  beer, 
dragged  along  by  a  single  horse,  makes  by  itself  as 
much  noise  as  all  your  carriages  together.  Eighty-seven. 
And  there  is  nothing,  you  observe,  for  the  protec- 
tion and  convenience  of  passengers  who  wish  to  cross 
the  road.  Nothing  at  all.  No  pohceman  stands  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  to  regulate  the  trafiic  ;  the  drivers 
pay  no  heed  to  the  foot  passengers  ;  at  the  corner  of 
Chancery  Lane,  where  the  press  is  the  thickest,  the  boys 
and  the  clerks  slip  in  and  out  among  the  horses  and 
the  wheels  without  hurt :  but  how  will  those  ladies  be 
able  to  get  across?  They  never  would  but  for  the 
crossing-sweeper — the  most  remunerative  part  of  the 
work,  in  fact,  is  to  convoy  the  ladies  across  the  road  ;  if 


6o 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


he  magnifies  the  danger  of  this  service,  and  expects 
silver  for  saving  the  hves  of  his  trembhng  chents,  who 
shall  blame  him  ? 

There  are  still  left  some  of  the  old  posts  which  divided 
the  footway  from  the  roadway,  though  the  whole  is  now 
paved  and — what,  Eighty-seven?  You  have  stepped 
into  a  dandy-trap  and  splashed  your  feet.  Well,  per- 
haps, in  your  day  they  will  have  learned  to  pave  more 

evenly,  but  just  at  pre- 
sent our  paving  is  a  little 
rough,  and  the  stones 
sometimes  small,  so  that 
here  and  there,  after  rain, 
these  things  will  happen. 
Here  we  are  at  Black- 
friars.  This  is  the  Gate 
of  Bridewell,  where  they 
used  to  flog  women,  and 
still  flog  the  'prentices 
Yonder  is  the  Fleet 
Prison,  of  which  we 
have  just  read  an  account  in  the  '  Pickwick  Papers.' 
They  have  cleared  away  the  old  Fleet  Market,  which 
used  to  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  they  have 
planted  it  behind  the  houses  opposite  the  Prison.  Come 
and  look  at  it.  Let  us  tread  softly  over  the  stones  of 
Farringdon  Market,  for  somewhere  beneath  our  feet  lie 
the  bones  of  poor  young  Chatterton.  No  monument  has 
been  erected  here  to  his  memory,  nor  is  the  spot  known 


THOMAS    CHATTEKTON 


IN  THE  STREET  6i 

where  he  Hes,  but  it  is  somewhere  in  this  place,  which 
is  a  tragic  and  mournful  spot,  being  crammed  beneath 
its  pavement  with  the  bones  of  the  poor,  the  outcast, 
the  broken  down,  the  wrecks  and  failures  of  hfe,  and 
littered  above  the  pavement  with  the  wreckage  and 
refuse  of  the  market.  This  place  was  formerly  the 
burial-ground  of  the  Shoe  Lane  Workhouse. 

We  can  walk  down  to  the  Bridge  and  look  at  the 
river.  No  Embankment  yet.  Eighty-seven.  No  penny 
steamers,  either.  Yet  the  watermen  grumble  at  the 
omnibuses  which  have  cut  into  their  trade. 

Here  comes  the  lamplighter,  with  his  short  ladder 
and  his  lantern. 

Gas,  of  course,  has  been  introduced  for  ever  so  long. 
They  have  blindly  followed  the  old  plan  of  lighting, 
and  have  stuck  up  a  gas  lamp  wherever  there  used  to  be 
an  oil  lantern.  The  theatres  and  places  of  amusement 
are  brilHant  with  gas,  and  it  is  gas  which  makes  the 
splendour  of  the  gin-palace.  The  shops  took  to  it 
slowly,  but  they  are  now  beginning  to  understand  how 
to  brighten  their  appearance  after  dark.  Go  into  any 
little  thoroughfare,  however,  and  you  will  see  the  shops 
lit  with  two  or  three  candles  still. 

In  the  small  houses  and  the  country  towns  the 
candles  linger  still.  And  such  candles  !  For  the  most 
part  they  are  tallow :  they  need  constant  snuffing :  they 
drop  their  detestable  grease  everywhere — on  the  table- 
cloth, on  your  clothes,  on  the  butter  and  on  the  bread. 
You,  Eighty-seven,  will  be  saying  hard  things  of  gas,  but 


62  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

you  do  not  know  from  what  darkness,  and  misery  of 
darkness,  it  saved  your  ancestors. 

As  for  the  churches,  they  are  not  yet  generally  pro- 
vided with  gas.  There  is  some  strange  prejudice  against 
it  in  the  minds  of  the  clergy.  Yet  it  is  not  Papistical, 
or  even  freethinking.  In  most  of  them,  where  they 
have  evening  service,  the  pews  are  provided  with  two 
candles  apiece,  stuck  in  tin  candlesticks,  with  four 
candles  for  the  pulpit  and  four  for  the  reading-desk. 
The  effect  is  not  unpleasing,  but  the  candles  continually 
require  snuffing,  and  the  operation  is  constantly  attended 
with  accidents,  so  that  the  church  is  always  filled  with 
the  fragrance  of  smouldering  tallow  wicks.  The  repug- 
nance to  gas  is  so  great,  indeed,  in  some  quarters,  that 
one  clergyman,  the  Rector  of  Holy  Trinity,  Marylebone, 
is  going  to  commit  all  his  vestrymen  to  the  Ecclesiasti- 
cal Courts  because  they  have  attempted  to  light  the 
church  with  gas. 

Here  is  a  City  funeral  in  one  of  the  burial-grounds 
close  to  the  crowded  street ;  the  clergyman  reads  the 
Service,  and  the  mourners  in  their  long  black  cloaks 
stand  round  the  open  grave,  and  the  coffin  is  lowered  into 
it,  and  outside  there  is  no  cessation  at  all  to  the  bustle 
and  the  noise;  the  wagoner  cracks  his  whip,  the  drover 
swears  at  his  cattle,  the  busy  men  run  to  and  fro  as  if 
the  last  rites  were  not  being  performed  for  one  who  has 
heard  the  call  of  the  Messenger,  and,  perforce,  obeyed 
it.  And  look — the  mould  in  which  the  grave  is  dug  is 
nothing  but  bits  of  bones  and  splinters  of  coffins.     The 


IN  THE  STREET 


(>l 


churchyard  is  no  longer  a  field  of  clay :  it  is  a  field  of 
dead  citizens.  You,  friend  Eighty-seven,  will  manage 
these  things  better. 

Here  goes  one  of  the  long  stages.  Saw  you  ever  a 
finer  coach,  more  splendidly  appointed,  with  better 
cattle.^  Ten  miles  an  hour  that  coachman  reckons 
upon  as  soon  as  he  is  clear  of 
London.  Tliey  say  that  in  a 
year  or  two,  when  all  the  rail- 
ways are  opened,  the  stage- 
coaches will  be  ruined,  the 
horses  all  sold,  and  the  Enirlish 
breed  of  horses  ruined.  We 
shall  travel  twenty  miles  an  hour 
without  stopping  to  change 
horses  ;  the  accidents  will  be 
frightful,  but  those  who  meet 
with  none  will  get  from  Lon- 
don to  Edinburgh  in  less  than 
twenty-four  hours.  Next  year 
they  promise  to  open  the  Lon- 
don and  Birmingham  Eailway. 

Here  comes  a  soldier.  You  find  his  dress  absurd  ? 
To  be  sure,  his  tight  black  stock  makes  his  red  cheeks 
seem  swollen  ;  his  queer  tall  hat,  with  the  neat  red  ball 
at  the  top,  might  be  more  artistic  ;  the  red  shoulder  roll, 
not  the  least  hke  an  epaulette,  would  hardly  ward  off  a 
sword-cut ;  the  coat  with  its  swallow  tail  is  no  protec- 
tion to  the  body  or  the  legs ;  the  whitened   belt  must 


3rd  kegijient  of  buffs 


64 


FJFTY   YEARS  AGO 


cost  an  infinite  amount  of  trouble  to  keep  it  fit  for 
inspection,  and  a  working-man's  breeches  and  stockings 
would  be  more  serviceable  than  those  long  trousers. 
There  are  always  brave  fellows,  however,  ready  to  en- 
list ;  the  soldier's  life  is  attractive,  though  the  discipline 
is  hard  and  the  floggings  are  truly  awful. 


DOUGLAS    JERROLD 
( From  the  Bust  by  the  late  E.  H.  Bailey,  R.A.) 


My  friend,  it  is  half-past  five,  and  you  are  tired. 
Let  us  get  back  to  Temple  Bar  and  dine  at  the  Mitre, 
where  we  can  take  our  cut  off"  the  joint  for  eighteen- 
pence.  About  this  time  most  men  are  thinking  of 
dinner.     Buy  an  evening  paper  of  the  boy. 


U^^t^   >4 


IN  THE  STREET 


65 


So :  this  is  cosy.  A  newly  sanded  floor,  a  bright 
fire,  and  a  goodly  company.  James !  a  clean  table- 
cloth, a  couple  of  candles,  and  the  snuffers,  and  the  last 
joint  up.  What  have  you  got  in  the  paper?  Mada- 
gascar Embassy,  Massacre  in  New  Zealand — where  the 
devil  is  New  Zealand  ? — Suicide  of  Champion,  who  made 
the  infernal  machine,  Great  Distress  in  the  Highlands, 
Murder  of  a  Process-server 
in  Ireland,  Crossing  of  the 
Channel  in  a  Balloon — I 
hope  that  some  day  an 
army  may  not  cross  it — 
Letter  from  Syria,  con- 
cerning? the  recent  Great 
Earthquake,  Conduct  of 
the  British  Legion  in  Spain, 
Seven  Men  imprisoned  for 
unlawfully  ringing  the 
Bells,  Death  of  the  Oldest 
Woman  in  the  World,  aged 
162  years,  said  to  have 
been  the  Nurse  of  George 

Washington — a  good  deal  of  news  all  for  one  evening 
paper.  Hush  !  we  are  in  luck.  Here  is  Douglas 
Jerrold.  Now  we  shall  hear  something  good.  Here 
is  Leigh  Hunt,  and  here  is  Forster,  and  here — ah  !  this 
is  unexpected — here  comes  none  other  than  '  Boz  '  him- 
self. Of  course  you  know  his  name  ?  It  is  Charles 
Dickens.     Saw  one  ever  a  brighter  eye  or  a  more  self- 


JOHN    FOESTER 
(From  a  Photograph  by  Elliott  and  Fry) 


66 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


reliant  bearing  ?  Such  self-reliance  belongs  to  those 
who  are  about  to  succeed.  They  say  his  fortune  is 
already  made,  though  but  yesterday  he  was  a  reporter 
in  the  House,  taking  down  the  speeches  in  shorthand. 
Who  is  that  tall  young  man  with  the  ugly  nose  ?  Only 
a  journalist.  Tliey  say  he  wrote  that  funny  paper 
called  '  The  Fatal  Boots '  in  TiUs  Annual.  His  name  is 
Thackeray,  I  believe,  but  I  know  nothing  more  about 
him. 

Here  comes  dinner,  with  a  tankard  of  foaming  stout. 
Is  there  any  other  drink  quite  so  good  as  stout  ?  After 
you  have  taken  your  dinner,  friend  Eighty-seven,  I  shall 

prescribe  for  you  what  you 
will  never  get,  poor  wretch 
— a  bottle  of  the  best  port 
in  the  cellars  of  the  Mitre. 
My  friend,  there  is  one 
thing  in  which  we  of  the 
Thirties  do  greatly  excel 
you  of  the  Eighties.  We 
can  eat  like  ploughboys, 
and  we  can  drink  like  dray- 
men. As  for  your  nonsense 
about  Apollinaris  Water, 
we  do  not  know  what  it 
means ;  and  as  for  your  not  being  able  to  take  a  simple 
o-lass  of  port,  we  do  not  in  the  least  understand  it. 
Not  take  a  pint  of  port  ?  Man  alive  !  we  can  take  two 
bottles,  and  never  turn  a  hair. 


CHAKLES   DICKENS 


CHAPTER  y. 

WITH     THE     PEOPLE. 

When  the  real  history  of  the  people  conies  to  be  written 
■ — which  will  be  the  History,  not  of  the  Higher,  but  of 
the  Lower  Forms  of  Civilisation — it  will  be  found  that, 
as  regards  the  people  of  these  islands,  they  sank  to  their 
lowest  point  of  degradation  and  corruption  in  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century — a  period  when  they  had  no 
religion,  no  morality,  no  education,  and  no  knowledge, 
and  when  they  were  devoured  by  two  dreadful  diseases, 
and  were  prematurely  killed  by  their  excessive  drinking 
of  gin.  No  virtue  at  all  seems  to  have  survived  among 
all  the  many  virtues  attributed  to  our  race  except  a 
bulldog  courage  and  tenacity.  There  are  glimpses  here 
and  there,  when  some  essayist  or  novelist  lifts  the  veil, 
which  show  conditions  of  existence  so  shocking  that 
one  asks  in  amazement  how  there  could  have  been  any 
cheerfulness  in  the  civilised  part  of  the  community  for 
thinking  of  the  terrible  creatures  in  the  ranks  below. 
They  did  not  think  of  them ;  they  did  not  know  of  them ; 
to  us  it  seems  as  if  the  roaring  of  that  volcano  must 
have  been  always  in  their  ears,  and  the  smoke  of  it 


68  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

always  choking  their  throats.  But  our  people  saw  and 
heard  nothing.  Across  the  Channel,  where  men's  eyes 
were  quicker  to  see,  the  danger  was  clearly  discerned, 
and  the  eruption  foretold.  Here,  no  one  saw  anything, 
or  feared  anything. 

How  this  country  got  through  without  a  revolution, 
how  it  escaped  the  dangers  of  that  mob,  are  questions 
more  difficult  to  answer  than  the  one  which  continually 
occupies  historians — How  Great  Britain,  single-handed, 
fought  against  the  conqueror  of  the  world.  Both  vic- 
tories were  mainly  achieved,  I  beheve,  by  the  might  and 
majesty  of  Father  Stick. 

He  is  dead  now,  and  will  rule  no  more  in  this 
country.  But  all  through  the  last  century,  and  well 
into  this,  he  was  more  than  a  king — he  was  a  despot, 
relentless,  terrible.  He  stripped  women  to  the  waist 
and  whipped  them  at  Bridewell ;  he  caught  the  'pren- 
tices and  flogged  them  soundly ;  he  lashed  the  criminal 
at  the  cart-tail ;  he  laslied  the  slaves  in  the  plantations, 
the  soldiers  in  the  army,  the  sailors  on  board  the 
ships,  and  the  boys  at  school.  He  kept  everybody  in 
order,  and,  truly,  if  the  old  violence  were  to  return,  we 
might  have  to  call  in  Father  Stick  again. 

He  was  good  up  to  a  certain  point,  beyond  which 
he  could  not  go.  He  could  threaten,  '  If  you  do  this, 
and  this,  you  shall  be  trounced.'  Thus  the  way  of 
transgressors  was  made  visibly  hard  for  them.  But  he 
could  not  educate — he  taught  nothing  except  obedience 
to  the  law  ;  he  had  neither  religion  nor  morals ;  there- 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE  69 

fore,  though  he  kept  the  people  in  order,  he  did  not 
advance  them.  On  the  other  hand,  under  his  rule  they 
were  left  entirely  to  themselves,  and  so  they  grew  worse 
and  worse,  more  thirsty  of  gin,  more  brutal,  more 
ignorant.  So  that,  in  the  long  run,  I  suppose  there 
was  not  under  the  light  of  the  sun  a  more  depraved  and 
degraded  race  than  that  which  peopled  the  lowest  levels 
of  our  great  towns.  There  is  always  in  every  great 
town  a  big  lump  of  lawlessness,  idleness,  and  hostility 
to  order.  The  danger,  a  hundred  years  ago,  was  that 
this  lump  was  getting  every  day  bigger,  and  threatening 
to  include  the  whole  of  the  working  class. 

Remember  that  as  yet  the  government  of  this  realm 
was  wholly  in  the  hands  of  the  wealthier  sort.  Only 
those  who  had  what  was  humorously  called  a  stake  in 
the  country  were  allowed  to  share  in  ruling  it.  Those 
who  brought  to  the  service  of  their  native  land  only 
their  hands  and  their  lives,  their  courage,  their  patience, 
skill,  endurance,  and  obedience,  were  supposed  to  have 
no  stake  in  the  country.  The  workers,  who  contribute 
the  whole  that  makes  the  prosperity  of  the  country, 
were  then  excluded  from  any  share  in  managing  it. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  first  improvement  of  the 
People  dates  from  their  perception  of  the  fact  that  all 
have  a  right  to  help  in  managing  their  own  affairs ;  I 
think  one  might  prove  that  the  ideas  of  the  French 
Revolution,  when  they  were  once  grasped,  arrested  the 
downward  course  of  the  People — the  first  step  to  dig- 
nity and  self-respect  was  to  understand  that  they  might 


70  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

become  free  men,  and  not  remain  like  unto  slaves  who 
are  ordered  and  have  to  obey.  Then  they  began  to 
struggle  for  their  rights,  and  in  the  struggle  learned  a 
thousand  lessons  which  have  stood  them  in  good  stead. 
They  learned  to  combine,  to  act  together,  to  form  com- 
mittees and  councils  ;  they  learned  the  art  of  oratory, 
and  the  arts  of  persuasion  by  speech  and  pen  ;  they 
learned  the  power  of  knowledge — in  a  word,  the  long 
struggle  whose  first  great  victory  was  the  Eeform  Act 
of  1832  taught  the  Pec  pie  the  art  of  self-government. 

Fifty  years  ago,  though  that  Act  had  been  passed, 
the  great  mass  of  the  people  were  still  outside  the 
government.  They  were  governed  by  a  class  who  de- 
sired, on  the  whole,  to  be  just,  and  wished  well  to  the 
people,  provided  their  own  interests  were  not  disturbed, 
as  when  the  most  philanthropic  manufacturers  loudly 
cried  out  as  soon  as  it  was  proposed  to  restrict  the 
hours  of  labour.  It  is  not  wonderful,  therefore,  that 
the  working  classes  should  at  that  time  regard  all 
governments  with  hostility,  and  Eeligion  and  Laws  as 
chiefly  intended  to  repress  the  workers  and  to  safeguard 
the  interests  of  landlords  and  capitalists.  This  fact  is 
abundantly  clear  from  the  literature  which  the  working 
men  of  1837  dehghted  to  read. 

As  regards  their  religion,  there  was  already  an  im- 
mense advance  in  the  spread  of  the  Nonconformist  sects 
and  the  multiplication  of  chapels.  As  for  the  churches,  I 
am  very  certain  that  the  working  man  does  not  go  much 
to  church  even  yet,  but  fifty  years  ago  he  attended   ser- 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE  71 

vice  still  less  often.  A  contemporary  who  pretends  to 
know  asserts  that  nine  out  of  ten  among  the  working 
men  were  professed  infidels,  whose  favourite  reading 
was  Paine,  Carhle,  and  Eobert  Taylor,  the  author  of 
'The  Devil's  Chaplain.'  Further,  he  declares  that  not 
one  working  man  in  a  hundred  ever  opened  a  Bible. 

I  refrain  from  dwelling  upon  this  state  of  things  as 
compared  with  that  of  the  present,  but  it  appears  from 
a  census  taken  by  a  recent  weekly  newspaper  (which, 
however,  omitted  the  mission  churches  and  services  in 
school-rooms  and  other  places)  that  about  one  person 
in  nine  now  attends  church  or  chapel  on  a  Sunday. 

As  regards  drink,  a  question  almost  as  delicate  as 
tliat  of  religion,  it  is  reported  that  in  London  alone 
three  millions  of  pounds  were  spent  every  year  in  gin, 
which  seems  a  good  deal  of  money  to  throw  away  with 
nothing  to  show  for  it.  But  figures  are  always  misleading. 
Thus,  if  everybody  drank  his  fair  share  of  this  three 
milhons,  there  would  be  only  a  single  glass  of  gin  every 
other  day  for  every  person  ;  and  if  half  the  people  did, 
not  drink  at  all,  there  would  be  only  one  glass  of  gin  a 
day  for  those  who  did.  Still,  we  must  admit  that  three 
millions  is  a  sum  which  shows  a  widespread  love  of  gin. 
As  for  rum,  brandy,  and  Hollands,  the  various  forms  of 
malt  liquor,  fancy  drinks,  and  compounds,  let  us  reserve 
ourselves  for  the  chapter  on  Taverns.  Suffice  it  here 
to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  there  was  no  blue 
ribbon  worn.  Teetotallers  there  were,  it  is  true,  but  in 
very  small  numbers ;  they  were  not  yet  a  power  in  the 


72  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

land  ;  there  was  none  of  the  everlasting  dinning  about 
the  plague  spot,  the  national  vice,  and  the  curse  of  the 
age,  to  which  we  are  now  accustomed.  Honest  men 
indulged  in  a  bout  without  subsequent  remorse,  and  so 
long  as  the  drink  was  unadulterated  they  did  themselves 
little  harm.  Without  doubt,  if  the  men  had  become 
teetotallers,  there  would  have  been  very  much  more  to 
spend  in  the  homes,  and  the  employers  would,  also  with- 
out doubt,  have  made  every  effort  to  reduce  the  wages 
accordingly,  so  as  to  keep  up  the  old  poverty.  That  is 
what  the  former  school  of  philosophers  called  a  Law  of 
Political  Economy.  The  wages  of  a  skilled  mechanic 
fifty  years  ago  seem  to  have  never  risen  above  thirty 
shillings  a  week,  while  food,  clothes,  and  necessaries 
were  certainly  much  dearer  than  at  present.  He  had 
savings  banks,  and  he  sometimes  put  something  by,  but 
not  nearly  so  much  as  he  can  do  now  if  he  is  thrifty 
and  in  regular  work.  It  is  quite  clear  that  he  was  less 
thrifty  in  those  days  than  now,  that  he  drank  more, 
and  that  he  was  even  more  reckless,  if  that  is  possible, 
about  marriage  and  the  multiplication  of  children. 

As  for  the  material  condition  of  the  people,  there 
cannot  be  a  doubt  that  it  has  been  amazingly  improved 
within  the  last  fifty  years.  It  is  not  true,  as  stated  in 
a  very  well  known  work,  that  the  poor  have  become 
poorer,  though  the  rich  have  certainly  become  richer. 
The  skilled  working  man  is  better  paid  now  than  then, 
his  work  is  more  steady,  his  hours  are  shorter.  He  is 
better  clad,  with  always  a  suit  of  clothes  apart  from 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE  73 

his  working  dress ;  be  is  better  taught ;  he  is  better 
mannered ;  he  has  holidays ;  he  has  clubs ;  he  is  no 
longer  forbidden  to  combine ;  he  can  co-operate ;  he 
holds  meetings ;  he  has  much  better  newspapers  to 
read ;  his  food  is  better  and  cheaper ;  he  has  model 
lodging  houses.  Not  only  is  he  actually  better ;  he  is 
relatively  better  compared  with  the  richer  classes,  while 
for  the  last  ten  years  these  have  been  growing  poorer 
every  day,  although  still  much  richer  than  they  were 
fifty  years  ago.  Moreover,  it  is  becoming  more  difficidt 
in  every  line,  owing  to  the  upward  pressure  of  labour, 
to  become  rich. 

His  amusements  no  longer  have  the  same  brutality 
which  used  to  characterise  them.  The  Eing  was  his 
chief  delight,  and  a  well-fought  battle  between  two  ac- 
complished bruisers  caused  his  heart  to  leap  with  joy. 
Unhappily  the  Eing  fell,  not  because  the  national  senti- 
ment concerning  pugilism  changed,  but  by  its  own 
vices,  and  because  nearly  every  fight  was  a  fight  on 
the  cross ;  so  that  betting  on  your  man  was  no  longer 
possible,  and  every  victory  was  arranged  beforehand. 
There  are  now  signs  of  its  revival,  and  if  it  can  be  in 
any  way  regulated  it  will  be  a  very  good  thing  for  the 
country.  Then  there  was  dog-fighting,  which  is  still 
carried  on  in  certain  parts  of  the  country.  Only  a 
few  years  ago  I  saw  a  dozen  dog-fights,  each  with  its 
ring  of  eager  lookers-on,  one  Sunday  morning  upon  the 
sands  between  Eedcar  and  Saltburn.  All  round  London, 
again,  there  were  ponds,  quantities  of  ponds,  all  marked 


74  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

in  the  maps  of  the  period  and  now  all  filled  up  and  built 
over.  Some,  for  instance,  were  in  the  fields  on  the  east 
side  of  Tottenham  Court  Eoad.  Hither,  on  Sundays, 
came  the  London  working  man  with  ducks,  cats,  and 
dogs,  and  proceeded  to  enjoy  himself  with  cat-hunts  and 
duck-hunts  in  these  ponds.  There  were  also  bull-and- 
bear-baitings  and  badger-drawings.  As  for  the  fairs, 
Bartholomew  and  Greenwich,  one  is  sorry  that  they  had 
to  be  abolished,  but  I  suppose  that  London  had  long 
been  too  big  for  a  fair,  which  may  be  crowded  but  must 
not  be  mobbed.  A  real  old  fair,  with  rows  of  stalls 
crammed  with  all  kinds  of  things  which  looked  ever 
so  much  prettier  under  the  flaring  lamps  than  in  the 
shops,  with  Eichardson's  Theatre,  the  Wild  Beast  Show, 
the  wrestlers  and  the  cudgel-players,  the  boxers,  with 
or  without  the  gloves,  the  dwarfs,  giants,  fat  women, 
bearded  women,  and  monsters,  was  a  truly  delightful 
thing  to  the  rustics  in  the  country ;  but  in  London  it 
was  incongruous,  and  even  in  Arcadia  a  modern  fair 
is  apt  to  lose  its  picturesque  aspect  towards  nightfall. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  just  as  well  for  London  that  it  has 
lost  its  ancient  fairs. 

It  is  not  in  connection  with  working  men,  but  with 
the  whole  people,  that  one  speaks  of  prisons.  I  do  not 
think  that  our  prison  system  at  the  present  day  is  every 
thing  that  it  might  be.  There  have  been  one  or  two  books 
published  of  late  years,  which  make  one  uncomfortable 
in  thinking  of  the  poor  wretches  immured  in  these 
abodes  of  solitary  suffering.     Still,  if  one  has  to  choose 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE  75 

between  a  lonely  cell  and  the  society  of  the  prison  birds 
by  day  and  night,  one  would  prefer  the  former.  Some  at- 
tempts had  been  made  in  Newgate  and  elsewhere  to  pre- 
vent the  prisoners  from  corrupting  each  other,  but  with 
small  success.  Those  who  were  tried  and  sentenced 
were  separated  from  those  who  were  waiting  their  trial; 
the  boys  were  separated  from  the  men,  the  girls  from 
the  women.  Yet  the  results  of  being  committed  to 
prison,  for  however  short  a  period,  were  destructive  of  all 
morals  and  the  last  shred  of  principle.  Not  a  single  girl 
or  woman  who  went  into  prison  modest  and  virtuous  but 
became  straightway  ashamed  of  her  modesty  and  virtue, 
and  came  out  of  the  prison  already  an  abandoned 
woman.  Not  a  man  or  boy  who  associated  with  the 
prisoners  for  a  week  but  became  a  past  master  in  all 
kinds  of  wickedness.  In  the  night  rooms  they  used  to 
lock  up  fifteen  or  twenty  prisoners  together,  and  leave 
them  there  all  night  to  interchange  their  experiences — 
and  what  experiences !  Only  those  who  were  under 
sentence  of  death  had  separate  cells.  These  poor 
wretches  were  put  into  narrow  and  dark  rooms,  re- 
ceiving light  only  from  the  court  in  which  the  criminals 
are  permitted  to  walk  during  the  day.  They  slept  on 
a  mat,  and  in  former  days  had  but  twenty-four  hours 
between  sentence  and  execution,  with  bread  and  water 
for  all  their  food. 

Transportation  still  went  on,  with  the  horrors  of  the 
convict  ship,  the  convict  hulks,  and  the  convict  esta- 
blishments of  New  South  Wales  and  Tasmania.     The 
8  . 


76 


FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 


*  horrors '  of  the  system  have  always  seemed  to  me 
as  forming  an  unessential  part  of  the  system.  With 
better  management  on  modern  ideas,  transportation 
should  be  far  better  than  the  present  system  of  hope- 
less punishment  by  long  periods  of  imprisonment.  We 
can  never  return  to  transportation  as  far  as  any  colony 
is  concerned,  but  I  venture  to  prophesy  that  the  next 
change  of  the  penal  laws  will  be  the  re-establishment  ol 
transportation  with  the  prospect  of  release,  a  gift  oi 
land,  and  a  better  chance  for  an  honest  life. 

Meantime  the  following  lines  belong  to  Fifty  Years 
Ago.  They  are  the  Farewell  of  convicts  about  to  sail 
for  Botany  Bay : 

THE  DARBY  DAY. 


Come,  Bet,  my  pet,  and  8al,  my  pal,  a  buss,  and  then  farewell — 
And  Ned,  the  primest  ruffling  cove  that  ever  nail'd  a  swell — - 
To  share  the  swag,  or  chaff  the  gab,  Ave'll  never  meet  again. 
The  hulks  is  ncm  my  bowsing  crib,  the  hold  my  dossing  ken. 
Don't  nab  the  bib,  my  Bet,  this  chance  must  happen  soon  or  later, 
For  certain  sure  it  is  that  transportation  comes  by  natur  ; 
His  lordship's  self,  upon  the  bench,  co  downie  his  white  wig  in. 
Might  sail  with  me,  if  friends  had  he  to  bring  him  up  to  priggin ; 
And  is  it  not  unkimmon  fly  in  them  as  rules  the  nation. 
To  make  us  end,  with  Botany,  our  public  edication  ? 
But  Sal,  so  kind,  be  sure  you  mind  the  beaks  don't  catch  you  tripping, 
You'll  find  it  hard  to  be  for  shopping  sent  on  board  the  shipping : 
So  tip  your  mauns  afore  we  parts,  don't  blear  your  eyes  and  nose, 
Another  grip,  my  jolly  hearts— here's  luck,  and  oflT  we  goes  I 


WITH  THE   PEOPLE 


77 


Debtors'  prisons  were  in  full  swing.  Tliere  were 
Wliitecross  Street  Prison,  built  in  1813  for  the  exclusive 
reception  of  debtors,  who  were  before  this  crowded 
together  with  criminals  at  Newgate  ;  Queen's  Bench  Pri- 
son, the  Fleet,  and  the  Marshalsea.  The  King's  Bench 
Prison  was   the   largest,  and,  so    to    speak,    the    most 


MEVVtiATE — ENTKANCE    IN    THE    OLD    BAILEY 

fashionable  of  these  prisons.  Both  at  the  King's  Bench 
and  the  Fleet  debtors  were  allowed  to  purchase  what 
were  called  the  '  Rules,'  which  enabled  them  to  live 
within  a  certain  area  outside  the  prison,  and  practically 
left  them  free.     They  paid  a  certain  percentage  on  their 


78  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

debts.  This  practice  enabled  the  debtor  to  refuse 
paying  his  debts,  and  to  save  his  money  for  himself  or 
his  heirs.  Lodgings,  however,  within  the  Eules  were 
bad  and  expensive. 

There  was  no  national  compulsory  system  of  edu- 
cation; yet  the  children  of  respectable  working  men 
were  sent  to  school.  The  children  of  the  very  poor, 
those  who  lived  from  hand  to  mouth  by  day  jobs,  by 
chance  and  luck,  were  not  taught  anything.  If  you 
talk  to  a  working  man  of  sixty  or  thereabouts,  you  will 
most  likely  discover  that  he  can  read,  though  he  has 
very  often  forgotten  how  to  write.  He  was  taught 
when  he  was  a  child  at  the  schools  of  the  National 
Society,  or  at  those  of  the  British  and  Foreign  Society,  or 
at  the  parish  schools,"  of  which  there  were  a  great  many. 
There  were  also  many  thousands  of  children  who  went 
to  the  Sunday  School.  Yet,  partly  through  the  neglect 
of  parents,  and  partly  through  the  demand  for  children's 
labour  in  the  factories,  nearly  a  half  of  the  children  in 
the  country  grew  up  without  any  schooling.  In  1837 
there  were  forty  per  cent,  of  the  men  and  sixty-five  per 
cent,  of  the  women  who  could  not  sign  their  own  names. 

And  there  were  already  effected,  or  just  about  to 
be  effected,  three  immense  reforms,  the  like  of  which 
the  nation  had  never  seen  before,  which  are  together 
working  for  a  Eevolution  of  Peace,  not  of  war,  greater 
than  contemplated  by  the  most  sincere  and  most  disin- 
terested of  the  French  Revolutionaries. 

The  first  was  the  Reform  of  the  Penal  Laws. 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE 


79 


i 


In  the  beginning  of  the  century  the  law  recognised 
223  capital  offences.  A  man  might  be  hanged  for 
almost  anything :  if  he  appeared  in  disguise  on  a 
public  road  ;  if  he  cut  down  young  trees ;  if  he  shot 
rabbits  ;  if  he  poached  at  night ;  if  he  stole  anything 
worth  five  shillings  from  a  person  or  a  shop ;  if  he 
came  back  from  transportation  before  his  time  ;  a  gipsy, 
if  he  remained  in  the  same  place  a  year.  In  fact,  the 
chief  desire  of  the  Government  was  to  get  rid  of  the 
criminal  classes  by  hanging  them.  It  was  Sir  Samuel 
Eomilly,  as  everybody  knows,  who  first  began  to  attack 
this  bloodthirsty  code. 
He  was  assisted  by  the 
growth  of  public  opinion 
and  by  the  juries,  who 
practically  repealed  the 
laws  by  refusing  to  con- 
vict. 

It  was  not,  again, 
until  the  year  1836  that 
counsel  for  a  prisoner 
under  trial  for  felony  was 
permitted  to  address  the 
jury.     In  the  year  1834, 

there  were  480  death  sentences  ;  in  1838,  only  116.  In 
1834,  894  persons  w^ere  sentenced  to  transportation  for 
life,  and  in  1838  only  266.  Eemember  that  this  wicked 
severity  only  served  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the 
people  against  the  Government. 


IN   THE    queen's    BENCH 


Bo  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

The  second  great  step  was  the  repeal  of  the  Acts 
which  forbade  combination.  Until  the  year  1820,  the 
people  had  been  forbidden  to  combine.  Their  only  power 
against  employers  who  worked  them  -as  many  hours  a 
day  as  they  dared,  and  paid  them  wages  as  small  as 
they  could,  who  took  their  children  and  looked  them 
up  in  unwholesome  factories,  was  in  combination,  and 
they  were  forbidden  to  combine.  When  the  law — an 
old  medigeval  law — was  repealed,  it  was  found  that  any 
attempt  to  hold  public  meetings  might  be  put  down  by 
force  ;  so  that,  though  they  could  not  combine,  the 
chief  means  of  promoting  combination  was  taken  from 
them. 

The  third  great  step  was  the  Extension  of  the 
Suffrage,  so  that  now  there  is  no  Briton  or  Irishman 
but  can,  if  he  please,  have  his  vote  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  nation.  It  is  not  a  great  share  which  is 
conferred  by  one  vote,  but  it  enables  every  man  to  feel 
that  he  is  himself  a  part  of  the  nation  ;  that  the  govern- 
ment is  not  imposed  upon  him,  but  elected  and  ap- 
proved by  himself 

Considering  all  these  things,  have  we  any  reason  to 
be  surprised  when  we  learn  that,  on  the  Queen's  Acces- 
sion, there  was  among  the  people  no  loyalty  whatever  ? 
Attachment  to  the  Sovereign,  personal  devotion  to  the 
young  Queen,  rallying  round  the  Throne — all  these 
things  were  not  even  phrases  to  the  working  class.  For 
they  never  heard  them  used. 

There  was  no  loyalty  at  all,  either  to  the  Queen,  or  to 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE  8i 

the  institution  of  a  limited  Monarchy^  or  to  the  Constitu- 
tion, or  to  the  Church. 

For  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  there  had  been  no 
loyalty  among  the  people.  Loyalty  left  the  country 
with  James  11.  Not  one  of  the  Sovereigns  who  fol- 
lowed him  commanded  the  personal  enthusiasm  of  the 
people,  not  even  Farmer  George,  for  whom  there  had 
been  some  kind  of  affection  with  something  of  contempt. 
From  1687  until  1837,  which  is  exactly  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  not  one  Sovereign  who  sat  upon  the 
Throne  of  England  could  boast  that  he  had  the  love  of 
the  people.  Not  one  wished  to  have  the  love  of  the 
people.  He  represented  a  principle  :  he  governed  with 
the  assistance  of  a  few  families  and  by  the  votes  of  a 
small  class.  As  King  he  was  a  stranger.  When  he  drove 
through  the  streets,  the  people  hurrahed  ;  but  they  did 
not  know  him,  and  they  cared  nothing  for  him. 

Therefore  the  sentiment  of  loyalty  had  to  be  re-born. 
It  could  only  be  awakened  by  a  woman,  young,  vir- 
tuous, naturally  amiable,  and  resolved  on  ruling  by  con- 
stitutional methods.  Yet  in  some  of  the  journals  written 
for,  and  read  by,  the  working  men,  the  things  said  con- 
cerning the  Queen,  the  Prince  Consort,  and  the  Court 
were  simply  horrible  and  disgusting.  Such  things  are 
no  longer  said.  There  are  still  papers  which  speak  of 
the  aristocracy  as  a  collection  of  titled  profligates,  and 
of  the  clergy  as  a  crowd  of  pampered  hypocrites,  but 
of  the  Queen  it  is  rare  indeed  to  find  mention  other 
than  is  respectful.     Her  life  and  example  for  fifty  years 


82  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

have  silenced  the  slanderers.  It  has  been  found  once 
more  possible  for  a  Sovereign  to  possess  the  love  of 
her  people. 

The  papers  read  by  the  working  men  Avere  not  only 
scurrilous,  but  they  were  Eepublican  and  revolutionary. 
The  Eepublic  whose  example  they  set  before  themselves 
was  not  the  American,  which  is  Conservative,  for  of  this 
they  knew  nothing.  Let  us  clearly  understand  this.  Fifty 
years  ago  America  was  far  more  widely  separated  from 
England  than  is  China  now.  The  ideal  Eepublic  was  then 
the  earlier  form  of  the  first  French  Eepublic.  These 
people  cared  little  for  the  massacres  which  accompanied 
the  application  of  Eepublican  principles.  I  do  not  say 
that  they  wished  to  set  the  heads  of  the  Queen's  Ladies- 
in- Waiting  on  pikes,  but  they  thought  the  massacres  of 
innocent  women  by  the  French  an  accident  rather  than 
a  consequence.  They  loved  the  cry  of  'Liberty, 
Equality,  and  Fraternity,'  and  still  believed  in  it.  They 
dreamed  of  a  country  which  they  thought  could  be 
established  by  law,  in  which  every  man  was  to  be  the 
equal  of  his  neighbour — as  clever,  as  skilful,  as  capable, 
as  rich,  and  as  happy.  The  dream  continues,  and  will 
always  continue,  to  exist.  It  is  a  generous  dream — 
there  never  has  been  a  nobler  dream — so  that  it  is  a 
thousand  pities  that  human  greed,  selfishness,  ambi- 
tion, and  masterfulness  will  not  sufier  the  dream  to  be 
realised.  Those  who  advocated  an  attempt  to  realise 
it  flung  hard  names  at  the  Crown,  the  Court,  the  aris- 
tocracy, the  Church,  the  educated,  and    the  wealthy. 


WITH  THE  PEOPLE  83 

Presently  they  began  to  formulate  the  way  by  which 
they  thought  to  place  themselves  within  reach  of  their 
object.  The  way  was  Chartism.  They  wanted  to 
carry  six  measures — Universal  Suffrage,  Annual  Parlia- 
ments, Vote  by  Ballot,  Abohtion  of  Property  Quali- 
fication, Payment  of  Members,  and  Equal  Electoral 
Districts.  Very  well ;  we  have  got,  practically,  four 
out  of  the  six  points,  and  there  are  many  who  think 
that  we  are  as  far  off  the  Millennium  as  ever.  Yet 
there  are,  however,  still  among  us  people  who  believe 
that  we  can  be  made  happy,  just,  merciful,  and  dis- 
interested by  changing  the  machinery.  Changing  the 
machinery  !  The  old  party  of  Eadicals  still  Avork  them- 
selves into  a  white  heat  by  crying  for  change  in  the 
machinery. 

And  now  a  thing  which  was  never  contemplated 
even  by  the  Chartists  themselves — the  really  important 
thing — has  been  acquired  by  the  people.  They  are  no 
longer  the  governed,  but  the  governors.  The  Govern- 
ment is  no  longer  a  thing  apart  from  themselves,  and 
outside  them.  It  is  their  own — it  is  the  Government  of 
the  People  of  England.  If  there  is  anything  in  it 
which  they  do  not  like,  they  can  alter  it ;  if  there  is 
anything  they  agree  to  abolish,  they  can  abolish  it, 
whether  it  be  Church,  Crown,  Lords,  wealth,  education, 
science,  art — anything.  They  may  destroy  what  they 
please :  they  may  reduce  the  English  to  an  illiterate 
peasantry  if  they  please. 

They  will  not  please.     I,  for  one,  have  the  greatest 


84  •  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

confidence  in  the  justice,  the  common-sense,  and  the 
Conservatism  of  the  English  and  the  Scotch.  The 
people  do  not,  as  yet,  half  understand  their  own  power  ; 
while  they  are  gradually  growing  to  comprehend  it, 
they  will  be  learning  the  history  of  their  country,  the 
duties  and  responsibilities  of  citizenship,  the  dangers  of 
revolution,  and  the  advantages  of  those  old  institutions 
by  whose  aid  the  whole  world  has  been  covered  with 
those  who  speak  the  Anglo-Saxon  speech  and  are 
governed  by  the  English  law. 

My  friends,  we  are  changed  indeed.  Fifty  years 
ago  we  were,  as  I  have  said,  still  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  people  had  no  power,  no  knowledge,  no 
voice  ;  they  were  the  slaves  of  their  employers ;  they 
were  brutish  and  ill-conditioned,  ready  to  rebel  against 
their  rulers,  but  not  knowing  how  ;  chafing  under  laws 
which  they  did  not  make,  and  restraints  which  kept 
them  from  acting  together,  or  from  meeting  to  ask  if 
things  must  always  continue  so.  We  are  changed 
indeed. 

We  now  stand  upright ;  our  faces  are  full  of  hope, 
though  we  are  oppressed  by  doubts  and  questions, 
because  we  know  not  which  path,  of  the  many  before 
us,  will  be  the  wisest  ;  the  future  is  all  our  own  ;  we 
are  no  longer  the  servants  ;  we  are  the  Masters,  the 
absolute  Eulers,  of  the  greatest  Empire  that  the  world 
has  ever  seen. 

God  grant  that  we  govern  it  with  wisdom  I 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WITH   THE   MIDDLE-CLASS. 

The  great  middle-class — supposed,  before  tlie  advent 
of  'Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  to  possess  all  the  virtues  ;  to 
be  the  backbone,  stay,  and  prop  of  the  country — must 
have  a  chapter  to  itself. 

In  the  first  place,  the  middle-class  was  far  more  a 
class  apart  than  it  is  at  present.  In  no  sense  did  it 
belong  to  society.  Men  in  professions  of  any  kind, 
except  the  two  services,  could  only  belong  to  society 
by  right  of  birth  and  family  connections  ;  men  in  trade 
— bankers  were  still  accounted  tradesmen — could  not 
possibly  belong  to  society.  That  is  to  say,  if  they  went 
to  live  in  the  country  they  were  not  called  upon  by 
the  county  famihes,  and  in  town  they  were  not  ad- 
mitted by  the  men  into  their  clubs,  or  by  ladies  into 
their  houses.  Those  circles,  of  which  there  are  now 
so  many — artistic,  aesthetic,  literary — all  of  them  con- 
sidering themselves  to  belong  to  society,  were  then  out 
of  society  altogether  ;  nor  did  they  overlap  and  inter- 
sect each  other.  The  middle-class  knew  its  own  place, 
respected  itself,  made  its  own  society  for  itself,  and 


86 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


cheerfully  accorded  to  rank  its  reverence  due.  The 
annals  of  the  poor  are  meagre ;  only  here  and  there 
one  gets  a  ghmpse  mto  their  lives.  But  the  middle- 
class  is  much  better  known,  because  it  has  had  pro- 
phets ;  nearly  all  the  poets,  novelists,  essayists,  jour- 
nalists, and  artists  have  sprung  from  it.  Those  who 
adorned  the  Thirties  and  the  Forties— Hood,  Hook,  Gait, 
Dickens,  Albert  Smith,  Thackeray — all  belonged  to  it ; 
George  Ehot,  whose  country  towns  are   those  of  the 

Thirties  and  the  Forties,  was 
essentially  a  woman  of  the 
middle-class. 

Middle- class  life — espe- 
cially in  the  country — was 
dull,  far,  for  duller  than 
modern  life  even  in  the 
quietest  country  town.  The 
men  had  their  business ;  the 
women  had  the  house.  In- 
comes ran  small ;  a  great 
deal  was  done  at  home  that 
is  now  done  out  of  it.  There  was  a  weekly  washing- 
day,  when  the  house  steamed  with  hot  soap-suds,  and 
the  '  lines '  were  out  upon  the  poles — they  were  painted 
green  and  were  square — and  on  the  lines  hung  half  the 
family  linen.  All  the  jam  was  made  at  home  ;  the  cakes, 
the  pies,  and  the  puddings,  by  the  wife  and  daughters ; 
the  bread  was  home-made  ;  the  beer  w^as  home-brewed 
(and  better  beer  than  good  home-brewed  no  man  need 


GEOEGK    ELIOT 

(Taken  from  the  Drawing  in  'The  Graphic 
by  permission) 


WJTH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  87 

desire)  ;  all  those  garments  which  are  not  worn  outside 
were  made  at  home.  Everybody  dined  in  the  middle 
of  the  day.  Therefore,  in  the  society  of  the  country 
town  dinner-parties  did  not  exist.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  were  sociable  evenings,  which  began  with  a  sit- 
down  tea,  with  muffins  and  tea-cakes,  very  delightful, 
and  ended  with  a  hot  supper.  Tobacco  was  not  ad- 
mitted in  any  shape  except  that  of  snuff  into  the  better 
kind  of  middle-class  house  ;  only  working  men  smoked 
vulgar  pipes  ;  the  Sabbath  was  respected ;  there  was 
no  theatre  nearer  than  the  county  town ;  the  girls 
had  probably  never  seen  a  play ;  every  man  who 
respected  himself '  laid  down '  port,  but  there  was  little 
drinking  of  wine  except  on  Sunday  afternoons  ;  no  one, 
not  even  the  ladies,  scorned  the  glass  of  something 
warm,  with  a  spoon  in  it,  after  supper.  For  the  young 
there  was  a  fair  once  a  year ;  now  and  then  a  travelhng 
circus  came  along  ;  there  was  a  lecture  occasionally  on 
an  instructive  subject,  such  as  chemistry,  or  astronomy, 
or  sculpture  ;  there  were  picnics,  but  these  were  rare  ; 
if  there  were  show  places  in  the  neighbourhood,  parties 
were  made  to  them,  and  tea  was  festively  taken  among 
the  ruins  of  the  Abbey. 

Fashion  descends  slowly  ;  it  is  now  the  working 
man  who  takes  his  wife  into  the  country  for  tea :  fifty 
years  ago  he  took  his  wife  nowhere,  and  scorned  tea. 
Open-air  games  and  sports  there  were  none  ;  no  lawn- 
tennis.  Badminton,  or  anything  of  that  kind  in  those 
days ;  even  croquet,  which  is  now  so  far  lost  in  the 


88  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

mists  of  antiquity  that  men  of  thirty  are  too  young  to 
remember  the  rage  for  it,  was  actually  not  yet  invented. 
Archery  certainly  existed,  and  the  comic  writers  are 
always  drawing  pictures  of  the  young  ladies  sticking 
their  arrows  into  the  legs  of  people  a  hundred  feet  or 
so  wide  of  the  target.  But  archery  belonged  to  a  class 
rather  above  that  which  we  are  now  considering. 
There  was  not  much  sketching  and  painting.  There 
was  no  amateur  photography ;  there  was  no  catching 
of  strange  creatures  in  ponds  for  the  aquarium — a 
fashion  also  now  happily  extinct ;  there  was  not,  in 
fact,  any  single  pursuit,  amusement,  or  game  which 
would  bring  young  people  together  in  the  open  air. 
There  was  no  travelling ;  the  summer  holiday  had  not 
yet  got  down  in  the  country.  In  London,  to  be  sure, 
everybody  down  to  Bevis  Marks  and  Simmery  Axe 
went  out  of  town  and  to  the  seaside  in  July  or  August ; 
but  in  the  country  nobody  thought  of  such  a  thing ; 
not  the  vicar's  daughters,  not  the  solicitor's  wife,  not 
the  family  of  the  general  practitioner  ;  the  very  school- 
master, who  got  his  four  weeks  in  the  summer  and  his 
three  at  Christmas,  spent  them  at  home  in  such  joy 
as  accompanies  rest  from  labour.  With  no  outdoor 
amusements,  and  with  no  summer  holiday,  how  much 
is  life  simpUfied !  But  the  simplicity  of  life  means 
monotony — -faciunt  vitam^  balnea,  vina,  Venus. 

In  the  winter,  things  were  somewhat  different.  In 
some  towns  there  was  the  county  ball.  At  this  func- 
tion one  had  the  pleasure  of  gazing  upon  ladies  and 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS 


89 


gentlemen  of  the  highest  rank  and  fashion,  and  of  ob- 
serving that  they  kept  to  themselves  like  a  Hindu  caste, 
danced  with  each  other  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
cast  disparaging  glances  at  the  dresses  of  tlie  ladies  of 
the  lower  end,  and  sniffed  at  their  manner  and  appear- 
ance. This  was  true  joy.  There  were  also  occasional 
dances  at  home,  but  these  were  rare,  because  people 
had  not  learned  how  to  meet  and  dance  without  making 
a  fuss  over  it,  taking  up  carpets,  j^utting  candles  in  tin 


J.A   PA8T00KELLE 


sconces,  keeping  late  hours,  and  having  a  supper,  the 
preparation  of  which  was  mainly  done  by  tlie  ladies  of 
the  house,  and  it  nearly  killed  them,  and  drove  the 
servants — the  genteel  middle-class  family  often  got 
along  with  only  one — to  give  notice,  I  think  that  the 
dances  which  had  ofone  out  in  London  still  lingered  in 
the  country.  There  were,  for  instance,  the  Caledonians 
as  well  as  the  Lancers  ;  there  were  country  dances  with- 
out end,  the  very  names  of  which  are  now  lost  ;  the 
gentlemen  performed  the  proper  steps  with  grace  and 


90  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

agility,  while  the  ladies  were  careful  to  preserve  an 
attitude  supposed  the  only  one  possible  for  a  lady 
while  dancing,  in  which  the  figure  was  bent  forward, 
the  face  was  turned  up  with  the  chin  stuck  out,  while 
the  hands  were  occupied  in  holding  up  the  dress  to  the 
regulation  height.  The  elders,  meanwhile,  played  long 
whist  at  tables  lit  by  candles  which  wanted  snuffincr 
between  the  deals.  The  bashful  youth  of  the  party 
was  always  covering  himself  with  shame  by  his  clumsi- 
ness in  snuffing  out  the  candles,  or,  even  if  he  succeeded 
in  taking  off  the  red-hot  ball  of  burnt  thread,  he  too 
often  neglected  to  close  the  instrument  with  whicli  he 
effected  the  operation,  and  thereby  mightily  offended 
the  nostrils  of  the  company.  When  there  was  no 
dancing  the  younger  members  began  with  a  'little 
music'  Their  songs— how  faded  and  stale  they  seem 
now  if  one  tries  to  sing  them ! — turned  chiefly  on  the 
affections,  and  the  favourite  pbet  was  Felicia  Hemans. 
After  the  little  music  they  sat  down  to  a  round  game, 
of  which  there  were  a  great  many,  such  as  Commerce, 
Speculation,  Vingt-et-Un,  Limited  Loo,  or  Pope  Joan. 
The  last  was  played  with  a  board.  I  remember  the 
board — it  was  a  round  thing,  lacquered,  and  like  a 
punch-bowl,  but  I  think  with  divisions ;  as  for  the 
game  itself,  and  what  was  done  with  the  board,  I  quite 
forget,  but  both  game  and  bowl  lasted  quite  into  the 
Fifties.  Are  there  any  country  circles  now  where  they 
still  play  Pope  Joan  with  mother-o'-pearl  counters,  and 
after  the  game  have  a  grand  settlement,  and  exchange 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  91 

the  counters  for  silver  and  copper,  some  with  chuckles, 
and  others  with  outward  smiles  but  inward  rage  ? 

People  were  extremely  punctilious  on  the  subject  of 
calls — one  remembers  the  call  in  the  '  Mill  on  the  Floss.' 
The  call  was  due  at  regular  intervals,  so  that  even  the 
day  should  almost  be  known  on  which  it  was  paid  or 
returned.  It  was  a  ceremonial  which  necessitated  a 
great  deal  of  ritual  and  make-believe.  No  one,  for 
instance,  was  to  be  surprised  in  doing  any  kind  of 
work.  There  was  a  fiction  in  genteel  families  that  the 
ladies  of  the  house  never  did  anything  serious  or 
serviceable  after  dinner  ;  the  afternoon  was  supposed 
to  be  devoted  either  to  walking,  or  to  making  calls,  or 
to  elegant  trifling  at  home.  Therefore,  if  the  girls  were 
at  the  moment  engaged  upon  any  useful  work — many 
of  them,  poor  things,  never  did  anything  but  useful 
work — they  crammed  it  under  the  sofa,  and  pretended 
to  be  reading  a  book,  or  painting,  or  knitting,  or  to  be 
engaged  in  easy  and  fashionable  conversation.  Why 
they  went  through  this  elaborate  pretence  I  have  not 
the  least  idea,  because  everybody  knew  that  every  girl 
in  the  place  was  always  making,  mending,  cutting- out, 
basting,  gusseting,  trimming,  turning,  and  contriving. 
How  do  you  suppose  that  the  solicitor's  daughters  made 
so  brave  a  show  on  Sundays  if  they  were  not  clever 
enough  to  make  up  things  for  themselves  ?  Everybody, 
of  course,  knew  it,  and  why  the  girls  would  not  own  up 
at  once  one  cannot  now  understand.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
sort  of  suspicion,  or  a  faint  hope,  or  a  wild  dream, 


92  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

that  a  reputation  for  ladylike  uselessness  might  enable 
them  to  cross  the  line  at  the  County  Ball,  and  mingle 
with  the  county  people. 

Are  there  still  any  circles  of  society  in  which,  if  a 
lady  with  her  daughters  calls  upon  another  lady  with 
her  daughters,  the  decanters,  biscuits,  and  glasses  are 
placed  upon  the  table,  and  the  visitors  are  asked  whether 
they  will  take  port  or  sherry  ?  This,  fifty  years  ago, 
was  always  done  in  country  towns,  and  the  visitors 
always  took  a  glass  of  port  or  sherry.  In  some  houses 
it  was  not  port  and  sherry  that  were  placed  upon  the 
table,  but  '  red '  and  '  white.'  I  do  not  know  whether 
the  red  was  currant  or  raspberry,  but  I  think  that  the 
white  was  generally  cowslip.  When  the  visitors  were 
gone,  the  ladies  got  out  their  work  again,  threaded 
their  needles,  and  spent  an  enjoyable  hour  or  two  in 
discussing  the  appearance,  the  dress,  the  manners,  and 
the  resources  of  their  visitors.  But  the  visit  did  them 
good,  because  it  compelled  company  manners,  which 
are  always  good  for  girls,  and  it  dragged  them- a  little 
out  of  themselves.  They  were  too  much  en  famille, 
these  girls  ;  they  were  never  separated  from  each  other. 
The  boys  got  out  to  school  or  to  business  all  day ;  but 
the  poor  girls  were  always  together.  Side  by  side  they 
did  their  household  duties,  side  by  side  they  sewed  and 
dressmaked,  side  by  side  they  walked,  side  by  side  they 
prayed  in  the  church,  side  by  side  they  slept.  Small 
chance  of  happiness  was  theirs — happiness  is  a  separate, 
distinct,  individual  kind  of  thing,  in  which  one  can  con- 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  93 

suit  one's  own  likes — until,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  there 
came  along  the  lover — a  humdrum,  commonplace  kind 
of  lover,  I  dare  say,  but  his  sweetheart  was  as  common- 
place as  himself — and  she  exchanged  a  house,  where 
she  was  a  better  kind  of  servant,  for  one  of  exactly  the 
same  sort,  in  which  she  was  the  mistress.  And  when 
one  says  mistress,  it  must  be  remembered  that  man  was, 
in  those  days,  much  more  of  a  master  in  the  house  than 
he  is  now  allowed  to  be.  I  speak  not  at  random,  but 
from  the  evidence  of  those  who  remember  and  from 
study  of  the  literature,  both  that  written  by  the  men 
and  that  by  the  women.  I  am  cercain  that  the  husband, 
unless  he  was  hen-pecked — a  pleasing  word,  now  seldom 
used — was  always  the  Master  and  generally  the  Tyrant 
in  the  house. 

Let  me,  with  some  diffidence,  approach  the  subject 
of  the  Church  in  the  country  town.  I  never  truly 
understood  the  Church  of  fifty  years  ago  until,  in  the 
autumn  of  1885, 1  perambulated  with  one  who  is  jealous 
for  Church  architecture  and  Church  antiquities  the 
north-east  corner  of  Norfolk,  where  there  are  many 
churches,  and  most  of  them  are  fine.  In  our  pilgrimage 
among  these  monuments  we  presently  came  upon  one 
at  the  aspect  of  which  we  were  fain  to  sit  down  and 
weep.  It  was,  externally,  an  old  and  venerable  structure, 
which  might  have  been  made  beautiful  within.  Plaster 
covered  the  walls,  and  hid  the  columns ;  the  interior  of 
the  church  was  crowded  with  high  pews,  painted  white, 
and  having  along  the  top  a  sham  mahogany  kind  of 


94  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

hand-rai! ;  the  cliancel  was  encumbered  with  these  en- 
closures, which  hid  the  old  brass- work;  that  which 
belonged  to  the  Squire  was  provided  with  red  curtains 
on  brass  rods  to  keep  the  common  people  from  gazing 
at  the  Quality.  The  reading-desk,  pulpit,  and  altar  were 
covered  with  a  cloth  which  had  been  red,  but  had  long 
before  faded  away  into  an  indescribably  shabby  brown. 
The  pulpit  was  not  part  of  the  old  three-decker,  but 
was  stuck  into  the  wall ;  the  windows  had  lost  their 
old  tracery  ;  the  painted  glass  was  gone  ;  the  roof  was 
a  flat  whitewashed  ceiling.  The  church,  to  eyes  accus- 
tomed to  better  things,  presented  a  deplorable  appear- 
ance. My  friend,  pointing  solemnly  to  the  general 
shabbiness,  remarked,  '  Donee  templa  refecaris.'  It  was 
the  motto  of  the  journal  started  early  in  the  Forties  by 
a  small  knot  of  Cambridge  men — among  whom  was 
Mr.  Beresford  Hope,  now,  alas !  no  more — who  desired 
to  raise  and  beautify  pubhc  worship  in  the  Anglican 
faith,  and  also,  I  believe,  to  assert  and  insist  upon 
certain  points  of  doctrine.  And  they  clearly  perceived 
that,  while  the  churches  remained  in  their  neglected 
condition,  and  church  architecture  was  at  its  then  low 
ebb,  their  doctrine  was  impossible.  How  far  they  have 
succeeded  not  only  the  Eitualists  themselves  proclaim, 
but  also  every  other  party  in  the  Church,  and  even  the 
Nonconformists,  who  have  shared  in  the  increased 
beauty  and  fitness  of  public  w^orship. 

He  who  can  remember  the  ordinary  Church  Services 
in  the  early  Fifties  very  well  knows  what  they  were  in 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  95 

the  Thirties,  except  that  in  the  latter  there  were  still 
some  venerable  divines  who  wore  a  wig. 

The  musical  part  of  the  service  was,  to  begin  with, 
taken  slow — incredibly  slow;  no  one  now  would,  who 
is  not  old  enouo;h  to  remember,  beheve  how  slow  it 
was.  The  voluntary  at  the  beginning  was  a  slow 
rumble ;  the  Psalms  were  very  slowly  read  by  the 
clergyman  and  the  clerk  alternately,  the  Gloria  alone 
being  sung,  also  to  a  slow  rumble.  The  choir  was 
generally  stationed  in  the  organ  loft,  which  has  been 
known  to  be  built  over  the  altar  at  the  east  end — as  at 
St.  Mary's,  Cambridge — but  was  generally  at  the  west 
end.  It  was  not  a  choir  of  boys  and  men  only,  but  of 
women  and  men.  The  '  Te  Deum'  was  always  'Jackson' 
— from  my  youth  up  have  I  loathed  '  Jackson ' ;  there 
was  just  one  hvely  bit  in  it  for  which  one  looked  and 
waited ;  but  it  lasted  a  very  few  bars ;  and  then  the 
thing  dragged  on  more  slowly  than  ever  till  it  came  to 
the  welcome  words,  '  Let  me  never  be  confounded.' 
Two  hymns  were  sung — very  slowly ;  they  were  always 
of  the  kind  which  expressed  either  the  despair  of  the 
sinner  or  the  doubtful  joy  of  the  believer.  I  say 
doubtful,  because  he  was  constantly  being  warned  not 
to  be  too  confident,  not  to  mistake  a  vague  hope  for 
the  assurance  of  election,  and  because,  with  the  rest  of 
the  congregation,  he  was  always  being  told  how  few  in 
number  were  those  elect,  and  how  extremely  unlikely 
that  there  could  be  many  of  those  few  in  that  one 
flock.      Eead  any  of  the  theological  literature  of  the 


56  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

period,  and  mark  the  gulf  that  lies  between  us  and  our 
fathers.  There  were  many  kinds  of  preachers,  just  as 
at  present — the  eloquent,  the  high  and  dry,  the  low  and 
threatening,  the  forcible-feeble,  the  florid,  the  prosy,  the 
scholarly — but  they  all  seemed  to  preach  the  same  doc- 
trine of  hopelessness,  the  same  Gospel  of  Despair,  the 
same  Father  of  all  Cruelty,  the  same  Son  who  could  at 
best  help  only  a  few  ;  and  when  any  of  the  congregation 
dared  to  speak  the  truth,  which  was  seldom,  these 
blasphemous  persons  whispered  that  it  was  best  to  live 
and  enjoy  the  present,  and  to  leave  off  trying  to  save 
their  souls  against  such  fearful  odds,  and  with  the 
knowledge  that  if  they  were  going  to  be  saved  it  would 
be  by  election  and  by  no  merit  or  effort  of  their  own, 
while,  if  the  contrary  was  going  to  happen,  it  was  no 
use  striving  against  fate.  Wretched,  miserable  creed ! 
To  think  that  unto  this  was  brought  the  Divine  Message 
of  the  Son  of  Man  !  And  to  think  of  the  despairing 
deathbeds  of  the  careless,  the  lifelong  terror  of  the 
most  religious,  and  the  agony  of  the  survivors  over  the 
death  of  one  '  cut  off  in  his  sins '  I 

What  we  now  call  the  *  life '  of  the  Church,  with  its 
meetings,  committees,  fraternities,  guilds,  societies,  and 
organisations,  then  simply  did  not  exist.  The  clergy- 
man had  an  easy  time ;  he  visited  little,  he  had  an 
Evening  Service  once  a  week,  he  did  not  pretend  to 
keep  saints'  days  and  minor  festivals  and  fasts — none  of 
his  congregation  expected  him  to  keep  them  ;  as  for  his 
being  a  teetotaller  for  the  sake  of  the  weaker  brethren. 


WITH   THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  97 

tliat  would  have  seemed  to  everybody  pure  foolishness, 
as,  indeed,  it  is,  only  people  now  run  to  the  opposite 
belief ;  yet  he  was  a  good  man,  for  the  most  part,  who 
lived  a  quiet  and  exemplary  life,  and  a  good  scholar — 
scholars  are,  indeed,  sadly  to  seek  among  the  modern 
clergy — a  sound  theologian,  a  judge  of  good  port,  and 
a  gentleman.  But  processions,  banners,  surpliced  choirs, 
robes,  and  the  like,  he  would  have  regarded  as  unworthy 
the  consideration  of  one  who  was  a  Churchman,  a 
Protestant,  and  a  scholar. 

To  complete  this  brief  study  of  the  Church  fifty 
years  ago,  let  us  remark  that  out  of  11,500  livings 
which  it  possessed,  3,000  were  under  100/.  and  1,000 
under  60/.  a  year,  that  there  were  6,080  pluralists  and 
2,100  non-residents,  that  the  Dissenters  had  only  been 
allowed  to  marry  in  their  own  chapels  and  by  their 
own  clergy  in  the  year  1831,  that  they  were  not  ad- 
milted,  as  Dissenters,  to  the  Universities,  and  that  the 
incomes  of  some  of  the  Bishops  were  enormous. 

As  for  Art,  in  the  house  or  out  of  it.  Art  in  pictures, 
sculpture,  architecture,  dress,  furniture,  fiction,  oratory, 
acting,  the  middle-class  person,  the  resident  in  the 
country  town,  knew  nothing  of  it.  His  church  was 
most  likely  a  barn,  his  own  house  was  four-square,  his 
furniture  was  mahogany,  his  pictures  were  coloured 
engravings,  the  ornaments  of  his  rooms  were  hideous 
things  in  china,  painted  red  and  white,  his  hangings 
were  of  a  warm  and  comfortable  red,  his  sofas  were 
horsehair,  his  drawing-room  was  furnished  with  a  round 


98 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


table,  on  which  lay  keepsakes  and  forget-me-nots ;  but 
as  the  family  never  used  the  room,  which  was  generally 
kept  locked,  it  mattered  little  how  it  was  furnished. 
He  dressed,  if  he  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  in  a  spencer, 
buttoned  tight,  a  high  black  satin  stock,  and  boots  up 
to  his  knees — very  likely  he  still  carried  his  hair  in  a 
tail.  If  he  was  young,  he  had  long  and  flowing  hair, 
waved  and  curled  with  the  aid  of  pomade,  bear's  grease, 


FASHIONS    FOR    AUGUST,  1S36 


FASHIONS    FOR    MARCH,  1837 


and  oil ;  he  cultivated  whiskers,  also  curled  and  oiled 
all  round  his  face  ;  he  wore  a  magnificent  stock,  with  a 
liberal  kind  of  knot  in  the  front :  in  this  he  stuck  a 
great  pin  ;  and  he  was  magnificent  in  waistcoats.  As 
for  the  ladies'  dresses,  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  describe 
them  ;  the  accompanying  illustration  will  be  of  service 
in  bringing  the  fashion  home  to  the  reader.  But  this  is 
the  effigy  of  a  London  and  a  fashionable  lady.     Her 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  99 

country  cousin  would  be  two  or  three  years,  at  least, 
behind  her.  Well,  the  girls  had  blooming  cheeks,  bright 
eyes,  and  simple  manners.  They  were  much  more  re- 
tiring than  the  modern  maiden  ;  they  knew  very  little 
of  young  men  and  their  manners,  and  the  young  men 
knew  very  little  of  them — the  novels  of  the  time  are 
full  of  the  shyness  of  the  young  man  in  presence  of  the 
maiden.  Their  ideas  were  Hmited,  they  had  strong 
views  as  to  rank  and  social  degrees,  and  longed  earnestly 
for  a  chance  of  rising  but  a  single  step ;  their  accom- 
plishments were  generally  contemptible,  and  of  Art 
they  had  no  idea  whatever.  How  should  they  have 
any  idea  when,  year  after  year,  they  saw  no  Art,  and 
heard  of  none  ?  But  they  were  good  daughters,  who 
became  good  wives  and  good  mothers — our  own,  my 
friends — and  we  must  not  make  even  a  show  of  holding 
them  up  to  ridicule. 

One  point  must  not  be  forgotten.  In  the  midst  of 
all  this  conventional  dulness  there  was,  in  the  atmo- 
sphere of  the  Thirties,  a  certain  love  of  romance  which 
showed  itself  chiefly  in  a  fireside  enthusiasm  for  the 
cause  of  oppressed  races.  Poland  had  many  friends ; 
the  negro — they  even  went  so  far  in  those  days  as  to 
call  him  a  brother — was  warmly  befriended ;  the  case 
of  the  oppressed  Greek  attracted  the  good  wishes  of 
everybody.  Now,  sympathy  with  oppression  that  is 
unseen  may  sometimes  be  followed  by  sympathy  with 
the  oppression  which  is  before  the  eyes ;  so  that  one  is 
not  surprised  to  hear  that  the  case  of  the  women  and 


loo  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

the  children  in  the  mines  and  the  factories  was  soon 
afterwards  taken  seriously  in  hand.  The  verse  which 
then  formed  so  large  a  part  of  family  reading  had  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  the  affections,  especially  their 
tearful  side ;  while  the  tales  they  loved  the  best  were 
those  of  kniojhts  and  fair  dames  of  adventure  and 
romance. 

A  picture  by  Du  Maurier  in  Punch  once  represented 
a  man  singing  a  comic  song  at  an  '  At  Home.'  Nobody 
laughed  ;  some  faces  expressed  wonder ;  some,  pity ; 
some,  contempt ;  a  few,  indignation ;  but  not  one  face 
smiled.  Consider  the  difference :  in  the  year  1837  every 
face  would  have  been  broadened  out  in  a  grin.  Do  we, 
therefore,  laugh  no  more?  We  do  not  laugh  so  much, 
certainly,  and  we  laugh  differently.  Our  comic  man  of 
society  still  tells  good  stories,  but  he  no  longer  sings 
songs;  in  his  stories  he  prefers  the  rapier  or  the  jewelled 
dagger  to  the  bludgeon.  Those  who  desire  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  comic  man,  as  he  was  accepted 
in  society  and  in  the  middle-class,  should  read  the 
works  of  Theodore  Hook  and  of  Albert  Smith.  To 
begin  with,  he  played  practical  jokes  ;  he  ccmtinually 
played  practical  jokes,  and  he  was  never  killed,  as 
would,  now  happen,  by  his  victims.  I  am  certain  that 
W3  should  kill  a  man  who  came  to  our  houses  and 
played  the  jokes  which  then  were  permitted  to  the 
comic  man.  He  poured  melted  butter  into  coat  pockets 
at  suppers  ;  he  turned  round  signposts,  and  made  them 
point  the  wrong  way,  in  order  to  send  people  whither 


■y   /^^-^-^ 


WITH  THE   MIDDLE-CLASS 


lOI 


they  did  not  wish  to  go.  It  may  be  remarked  that  his 
tricks  were  rarely  originaL  He  wrenched  off  door- 
knockers ;  he  turned  off  the  gas  at  the  meter ;  he  tied 
strings  across  the  river  to  knock  people  backwards  in 
their  boats  ;  he  tied  two  doors  together,  and  then  rang 
both  bells,  and  waited  with  a  grin  from  ear  to  ear ;  he 
rang  up  people  in  the  dead  of  the  night  on  any  pretext ; 
he  filled  keyholes  with  pow-dered  slate-pencil  when  the 
master  of  the  house  was  coming 
home  late  ;  he  hoaxed  innocent 
ladies,  and  laughed  when  they 
were  nearly  driven  mad  with 
worry  and  terror  ;  he  went  to 
masquerades,  carrying  a  iray 
full  of  medicated  sweets — think 
of  such  a  thing  ! — which  he  dis- 
tributed, and  then  retired,  and 
came  back  in  another  dress  to 
gaze  upon  the  havoc  he  had 
wrought. 

when  candles  were  still  carried 
about  the  house,  and,  as  yet,  it  was  thought  that  gas 
in  bedrooms  was  dangerous.  He  dipped  the  candles 
waiting  for  the  ladies  when  they  went  to  bed  into 
water,  so  that  they  spluttered  and  went  out,  and  made 
alarming  fireworks  when  they  were  lit  ;  and  then,  to 
remove  the  horrible  smell,  the  candles  being  of  tallow, 
he  offered  to  burn  pastilles,  but  these  were  confections 

of    gunpowder    and    water,    and    caused    the   liveilest 
10 


WATCHMAN 

Again,  it   was   a  time     (From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruik- 

shank  iu  'London  Characters') 


I02  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

emotions,  and  sent  the  poor  ladies  upstairs  in  an  agony 
of  nervous  terror. 

There  was  no  end  to  the  tricks  of  this  abominable 
person.  Once  he  received  an  invitation  to  a  great  ball, 
which  a  Eoyal  Personage  was  to  honour  with  his  pre- 
sence. The  Eoyal  Personage  was  to  be  regaled  in  a 
special  supper-room,  apart  from  the  common  herd. 
The  table  had  been  laid  in  this  room  with  the  most 
elaborate  care  and  splendour :  down  the  middle  of  the 
table  there  meandered  a  beautiful  canal  filled  with  gold 
and  silver  fish — a  contrivance  believed  in  those  remote 
ages  to  set  off  and  greatly  increase  the  beauty  of  a 
supper  table.  Our  ingenious  friend  quickly  discovered 
that  the  room  was  accessible  from  the  garden,  where 
some  workmen  were  still  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  their  work,  the  men  who  had  constructed  the 
marquee,  and  had  arranged  the  lamps  and  things.  He 
went,  therefore,  into  the  garden :  he  invited  these 
workmen  to  partake  of  a  little  refreshment,  led  them 
into  the  Eoyal  supper-room,  and  begged  them  to  help 
themselves,  and  to  spare  nothing :  in  a  twinkhng  ihe 
tables  were  cleared.  He  then  put  certain  chemicals 
into  the  canal,  which  instantly  killed  every  fish :  this 
done,  he  returned  to  the  ballroom,  and  waited  for  the 
moment  when  the  Illustrious  Personage,  the  hostess  on 
his  arm,  should  enter  that  supper-room,  and  gaze  upon 
those  empty  dishes. 

On  another  occasion,  he  discovered  that  a  respect- 
able butler  was  in  the  habit  of  creeping  upstairs,  in 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  103 

order  to  listen  to  the  conversation,  leaving  his  slippers, 
in  position,  at  the  head  of  the  kitchen  stairs.  He 
therefore  hid  himself  while  the  poor  man,  after  adjust- 
ing the  slippers,  walked  noiselessly  upstairs.  He  then 
hammered  a  tintack  into  the  heel  of  each  slipper,  and 
waited  again,  until  a  confederate  gave  the  alarm,  and 
the  fat  butler,  hurrjang  down,  slipped  one  foot  into 
each  slipper,  and — went  headlong  into  the  depths 
below,  and  was  nearly  killed.  '  Never  laughed  so 
much  in  all  my  life,  sir.' 

At  Oxford,  of  course,  he  enjoyed  himself  wonder- 
fully. For,  with  a  party  of  chosen  friends,  he  met  no 
less  a  person  than  the  Yice-Chancellor,  at  ten  or  eleven 
at  night,  going  home  alone,  and  peacefully.  To  raise 
that  personage,  lift  him  on  their  shoulders,  crown  him 
with  a  lamp  cover,  and  carry  him  triumphantly  to  the 
gates  of  his  own  College,  was  not  only  a  great  stroke  of 
fun,  but  a  thing  not  to  be  resisted.  And  he  blew  up 
the  group  of  Cain  and  Abel  in  the  Quadrangle  of  Brase- 
nose.  And  what  he  did  with  proctors,  bulldogs,  and 
the  like,  paf^seth  all  understanding.  It  was  at  Oxford 
that  the  funny  man  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Major.  Now  the  Major  was  in  love,  but  he  was  no 
longer  so  young  as  he  had  been,  and  his  hair  was 
getting  thin  on  the  top — a  very  serious  thing  in  the 
days  of  long  hair,  wavy,  curled,  singed,  and  oiled,  flow- 
ing gracefully  over  the  ears  and  the  coat-collar.  The 
Major,  in  an  evil  moment,  commissioned  the  Practical 
Joker,  whose  character,  one  would  think,  must  have 


I04  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

been  well  known,  to  procure  for  him  a  bottle  of  a 
certain  patent  hair-restorer.  Of  course,  the  Joker 
brought  him  a  bottle  of  depilatory  mixture,  which 
being  credulously  accepted,  and  well  rubbed  in,  de- 
prived the  poor  Major  of  every  hair  that  was  left  It 
is  needless  to  relate  how,  when  he  was  at  Eichmond 
with  a  party  of  ladies,  the  introduction  of  the  '  maids 
of  honour '  was  a  thing  not  to  be  resisted  ;  and  one  can 
quite  understand  how  one  of  the  young  ladies  was  led 
on  tojordering,  in  addition  to  another  '  maid  of  honour,' 
a  small  Gentleman  Usher  of  the  Black  Eod,  if  they  had 
one  quite  cold. 

The  middle-class  of  London,  before  the  develoDment 
of  omnibuses,  lived  in  and  round  the  City  of  London, 
Bloomsbury  being  the  principal  suburb  ;  many  thousands 
of  well-to-do  people,  merchants  and  shopkeepers,  lived 
in  the  City  itself,  and  were  not  ashamed  of  their  houses, 
and  filled  the  City  churches  on  the  Sunday.  Some  lived 
at  Clapham,  Camberwell,  and  Stockwell  on  the  south  ; 
a  great  many  at  Islington,  where  a  vigorous  offshoot  of 
the  great  city  ran  through  the  High  Street  past  Sadler's 
Wells  as  far  as  Highbury  ;  a  few  even  lived  at  Highgate 
and  Hampstead.  There  were  the  '  short '  stages  from 
London  to  all  these  places,  but,  so  far  as  can  be  gathered, 
most  of  those  who  lived  in  these  suburbs  before  the 
days  of  the  omnibus  had  their  own  carriages,  and  drove 
to  town  and  home  again  every  day.  On  Sunday  they 
entertained  their  friends,  and  the  young  gentlemen  of 
the  City  delighted  to  hire  horses  and  ride  down.     The 


WITH   THE  MIDDLE-CLASS 


105 


comic  literature  of  the  time  is  full  of  the  Cockney 
horseman.  It  will  be  remembered  how  Mr.  Horatio 
Sparkins  rode  gallantly  from  town  to  dine  with  his 
hospitable  friends  on  Sunday. 

The  manners  and  customs  of  the  Islington  colony, 
which  may,  I  suppose,  be  taken  for  the  suburban  and 


A   SCENE    ON    BLACKHEATH 

By  'PMz 
(rrom  'Sketches  in  London,'  by  James  Grant) 


Bloomsbury  people  generally — except  that  Eussell  and 

Bedford  Squares  were  very,  very  much  grander — may 

be  read  in  Albert  Smith's  '  Adventures  of  Mr.  Ledbury,' 

his    '  Natural   History    of    the    Gent,'    '  The   Pottleton 

Legacy,'  and  other  contemporary  works.     Very  good 

reading  they  are,   if  approached  in    the    right    spirit, 

which  is  a   humble    and    an   inquiring   spirit.      Many 
10* 


io6  FIFTY    YEARS  AGO 

remarkable  things  may  be  learned  from  these  books. 
For  instance,  would  you  know  how  the  middle-class 
evening  party  was  conducted  ?  Here  are  a  few  details. 
The  gentlemen,  of  whose  long  and  wavy  hair  I  have 
already  spoken,  wore,  for  evening  dress,  a  high  black 
stock,  the  many  folds  of  which  covered  the  shirt,  and 
were  enriched  by  a  massive  pin  ;  the  white  shirt-cuffs 
were  neatly  turned  over  their  wrists,  their  dress-coats 
were  buttoned,  their  trousers  were  tight,  and  they  wore 
straps  and  pumps.  The  ladies  either  wore  curls  neatly 
arranged  on  each  side — you  may  still  see  some  old 
ladies  who  have  clung  to  the  pretty  fashion  of  their 
youth — or  they  wore  their  hair  dropped  in  a  loop  down 
the  cheek  and  behind  the  ear,  and  then  fastened  in 
some  kind  of  band  with  ribbons  at  the  back  of  the 
head.  The  machinery  of  the  frocks  reminds  one  of  the 
wedding  morning  in  '  Pickwick,'  when  all  the  girls  were 
crying  out  to  be  '  done  up,'  for  they  had  hooks  and 
eyes,  and  the  girls  were  helpless  by  themselves.  Pink 
was  the  favourite  colour — and  a  very  pretty  colour  too ; 
and  there  was  plenty  of  scope  for  the  milliner's  art  in 
lace  and  artificial  flowers.  The  elder  ladies  were  mag- 
nificent in  turbans,  and  the  younger  ones  wore  across 
the  forehead  a  band  of  velvet  or  silk  decorated  with  a 
gold  buckle,  or  something  in  pearls  and  diamonds 
This  fashion  lingered  long.  I  remember — it  must  have 
been  about  the  year  1850 — a  certain  elderly  maiden 
lady  who  always  wore  every  day  and  all  day  a  black 
ribbon  across  her  brows  ;  this  alone  gave  her  a  severe 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS 


107 


and  keep-your-distance  kind  of  expression  ;  but,  in  ad- 
dition, the  ribbon  contained  in  the  middle,  if  I  remem- 
ber aright,  a  steel  buckle — though  a  lady,  one  thinks, 
would  hardly  wear  a  steel  buckle  on  her  forehead. 
Sometimes  there  was  a  wreath  of  flowers  worn  hke  a 
coronet,  and  sometimes,  but  I  think  hardly  in  Islington, 
a  tiara  of  jewels.  In  middle-class  circles,  the  fashion  of 
evening  dress  was  marred  by  a  fashion,  common  to 
both  sexes,  of  wearing  cleaned 
gloves.  Now  kid  gloves  could 
only  be  cleaned  by  one  process, 
so  that  the  result  was  an  effect 
of  turps  which  could  not  be 
subdued  by  any  amount  of 
patchouh  or  eau-de-Cologne. 
There  were,  as  yet,  no  cards 
for  the  dances,  and  when  a 
waltz  was  played,  everybody 
was  afraid  to  begin.  Quadrilles 
of  various  kinds  were  danced, 
and  the  country  dance  yet  lingered  at  this  end  of  the 
town.  The  polka  came  later.  Dancing  was  stopped 
whenever  any  young  lady  could  be  persuaded  to  sing, 
and  happy  was  the  young  man  whose  avocations  per- 
mitted him  to  wear  the  delightful  moustaches  forbidden 
in  the  City  and  in  all  the  professions.  Young  Templars 
wore  them  until  they  were  called,  when  they  had  to  be 
shaved.  For  a  City  man  to  wear  a  moustache  would 
have  been  ruin  and  bankruptcy. 


MAID    SEBVANT 

(From  a  Drawing  by  Cruikshank  in 
' London  Characters') 


jo8  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

Other  portions  of  Albert  Smith's  works,  if  read  with 
discernment,  will  enable  one  to  make  discoveries  of  some 
interest.  One  is  that  our  modern  'Arry  is  really  a 
survival,  not,  as  is  sometimes  believed,  a  growth  of 
modern  days.  His  ally  and  mistress,  'Arriet,  does  not 
seem  to  have  existed  at  all  fifty  years  ago  ;  at  least  there 
is  no  mention  of  her ;  but  Arry  flourished.  He  did 
really  dreadful  things.  He  was  even  worse  than  the 
Practical  Joker.  When  he  took  Titus  Ledbury  abroad, 
he  went  into  the  cathedrals  on  purpose  to  spill  the  holy 
water,  to  blow  out  the  candles,  and  to  make  faces  at 
the  women  kneeling  at  their  prayers ;  he  got  barrel- 
organs  into  lofts  and  invited  men  to  bring  grisettes  and 
dance  all  night,  with  a  supper  brought  from  the  cliar- 
cuterie ;  wherever  there  was  jumping,  dancing,  singing, 
and  riot,  'Arry  was  to  the  fore.  On  board  the  steamer 
he  seized  a  bottle  of  stout  and  took  up  a  prominent 
and  commanding  position,  where  he  drank  it  before  all 
the  world,  smoking  cigars,  and  laughing  loudly  at  the 
poor  people  who  were  ill.  At  home,  he  wrenched  off 
knockers,  played  practical  jokes,  drank  more  stout,  ate 
oysters,  chaffed  bar-maidens,  and  called  for  brandy  and 
water  continually.  He  was  loud  in  his  dress  and  in  his 
voice ;  he  was  insolent,  caddish,  and  offensive  in  his 
manners.  Generally,  one  thinks,  he  would  end  his 
career  in  Whitecross  Street,  or  the  Fleet,  or  the  Queen's 
Bench.  Doubtless,  however,  there  are  still  among  us 
old  gentlemen  who  now  sit  at  church  on  Sunday  with 
venerable  white  hair,  among  their  children  and  grand- 


WITH  THE  MIDDLE-CLASS  109 

children,  and  while  the  voice  of  the  preacher  rises  and 
falls,  their  memory  wanders  back  to  the  days  when  they 
danced  and  sang  with  the  grisettes,  when  they  wrenched 
the  knockers,  when  they  went  from  the  theatre  to  the 
Coal  Cellar,  and  from  the  Coal  Cellar  to  the  Finish  ;  and 
came  home  with  unsteady  step  and  light  purse  in  the 
grey  of  the  morning. 

The  Debtors'  Prison  belonged  chiefly  to  the  great 
middle-class.  Before  them  stalked  always  a  grisly 
spectre,  called  by  some  Insolvency  and  by  others  Bank- 
ruptcy. This  villainous  ghost  seized  its  victims  by  the 
collar  and  haled  them  within  the  walls  of  a  Debtors' 
Prison,  where  it  made  them  abandon  hope,  and  abide 
there  till  the  day  of  death.  Everybody  is  familiar  with 
the  inside  of  the  Fleet,  the  Queen's  Bench,  the  Marshal- 
sea,  and  Whitecross  Street.  They  are  all  pulled  down 
now,  and  the  only  way  to  get  imprisoned  for  debt  is  to 
incur  contempt  of  court,  for  which  HoUoway  is  the  re- 
ward. But  what  a  drop  from  the  humours  of  the 
Queen's  Bench,  with  its  drinking,  tobacco,  singing,  and 
noisy  revelry,  to  the  solitary  cell  of  Holloway  Prison  ! 
The  Debtors'  Prison  is  gone,  and  the  world  is  the  better 
for  its  departure.  Nowadays  the  ruined  betting-man, 
the  rake,  the  sharper,  the  profligate,  the  fraudulent 
bankrupt,  have  no  prison  where  they  can  carry  on  their 
old  excesses  again,  though  in  humbler  way.  They  go 
down — below  the  surface — out  of  sight,  and  what 
they  do,  and  how  they  fare,  nobody  knows,  and  very 
few  care. 


no  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

IN   SOCIETY. 

As  to  society  in  1837,  contemporary  commentatora 
differ.  For,  according  to  some,  society  was  always 
gambling,  running  away  with  each  other's  wives,  cS,using 
and  committing  scandals,  or  whispering^  them,  the  men 
were  spendthrifts  and  profligates,  the  women  extrava- 
gant and  heartless.  Of  course,  the  same  things  would 
be  said,  and  are  sometimes  said,  of  the  present  day,  and 
will  be  said  in  all  following  ages,  because  to  the  ultra- 
virtuous  or  to  the  satirist  who  trots  out  the  old,  stale, 
worn-out  sham  indignation,  or  to  the  isn't-it- awful, 
gaping  gohemouche,  every  generation  seems  worse  than 
all  those  which  preceded  it.  We  know  the  tag  and  the 
burden  and  the  weariness  of  the  old  song.  As  for  my- 
self, I  am  no  indignant  satirist,  and  the  news  that 
certain  young  gentlemen  have  been  sitting  up  all  night 
playing  baccarat,  drinking  cliampagne,  and  '  carrying 
on '  after  the  fashion  of  youth  in  all  ages,  does  not 
greatly  agitate  my  soul,  or  surprise  me,  or  lash  me  into 
virtuous  indignation.  Not  at  all  At  the  same  time,  if 
one  must  range  oneself  and  take  a  side,  one  may  imitate 


IN  SOCIETY 


the  example  of  Benjamin  Disraeli  and  declare  for  the 
side  of  the  angels.  And,  once  a  declared  follower  of 
that  army,  one  may  be  allowed  to  rejoice  that  things 
are  vastly  improved  in  the  space  of  two  generations. 
Of  this  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Making  easy  allowance 
for  exaggeration,  and  refusing  to  see  depravity  in  a 
whole  class  because  there  are  one  or  two  cases  that  the 
world  calls  shocking  and 
reads  eagerly,  it  is  quite 
certain  that  there  is  less 
of  everything  that  should 
not  be  than  there  used  to 
be — less  in  proportion, 
and  even  less  in  actual 
extent.  Tlie  general 
tone,  in  short  the  gene- 
ral manners  of  society, 
have  very  much  im- 
proved. Of  this,  I  say 
again,  there  can  be  no 
doubt.    Let  any  one,  for 

instance,  read  Lady  Blessington's  '  Victims  of  Society.' 
Though  there  is  an  unreal  ring  about  this  horrid  book, 
so  that  one  cannot  accept  it  for  a  moment  as  a  faithful 
picture  of  the  times,  such  a  book  could  not  now  be 
written  at  all ;  it  would  be  impossible. 

Let  us  sing  of  lighter  themes.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  great  subject  of  Swagger.  There  is  still  Swagger, 
even  in  these  days  ;  cavalry  officers  in  garrison  towns  are 


OFFICER    OF    THE    DKAGOOX    GTJAEDS 


112  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

still  supposed  to  swagger.  Eton  boys  swagger  in  their 
own  little  village  ;  undergraduates  swagger.  The  put- 
ting on  of  '  side,'  by  the  way,  is  a  peculiarly  modern 
form  of  swagger  :  it  is  the  assumption  of  certain  quali- 
ties and  powers  which  are  considered  as  deserving  of 
respect.  Swagger,  fifty  years  ago,  was  a  coarser  kind 
of  thing.  Officers  swaggered  ;  men  of  rank  swaggered  ; 
men  of  wealth  swaggered  ;  gentlemen  in  military  frogs 
— there  are  no  longer  any  military  frogs — swaggered  in 
taverns,  clubs,  and  in  the  streets.  The  adoption  of 
quiet  manners ;  the  wearing  of  rank  with  unobtrusive 
dignity  ;  the  possession  of  wealth  without  ostentation  ; 
of  wit  without  the  desire  to  be  always  showing  it — 
these  are  points  in  which  we  are  decidedly  in  advance 
of  our  fathers.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  cufi*  and 
collar,  stock  and  breastpin  about  the  young  fellows  of 
the  day.  They  were  oppressive  in  their  gallantry :  in 
public  places  they  asserted  themselves  ;  they  were  loud 
in  their  talk.  In  order  to  understand  the  young  man 
of  the  day,  one  may  study  the  life  and  career  of  thai- 
gay  and  gallant  gentleman,  the  Count  d'Orsay,  model 
and  paragon  for  all  young  gentlemen  of  his  time. 

They  were  louder  in  their  manners,  and  in  their 
conversation  they  were  insulting,  especially  the  wits. 
Things  were  said  by  these  gentlemen,  even  in  a  duelhng 
age,  which  would  be  followed  in  these  days  by  a  violent 
personal  assault.  In  fact,  the  necessity  of  fighting  a 
duel  if  you  kicked  a  man  seems  to  have  been  the  cause 
why  men  were  constantly  allowed  to  call  each  other,  by 


IN  SOCIETY  113 

implication,  Fool,  Ass,  Knave,  and  so  forth.  So  very 
disagreeable  a  thing  was  it  to  turn  out  in  the  early 
morning,  in  order  to  be  shot  at,  that  men  stood  any- 
thing rather  than  subject  themselves  to  it.  Consider 
the  things  said  by  Douglas  Jerrold,  for  instance.  They 
are  always  witty,  of  course,  but  they  are  often  mere  in- 
sults. Yet  nobody  seems  ever  to  have  fallen  upon  him. 
And  not  only  this  kind  of  thing  was  permitted,  but 
things  of  the  grossest  taste  passed  unrebuked.  For 
instance,  only  a  few  years  before  our  period,  at  Holland 
House — not  at  a  club,  or  a  tavern,  or  a  tap-room,  but 
actually  at  Holland  House,  the  most  refined  and  cul- 
tured place  in  London — the  following  conversation  once 
passed. 

They  were  asking  who  was  the  worst  man  in  the 
whole  of  history — a  most  unprofitable  question ;  and 
one  man  after  the  other  was  proposed.  Among  the 
company  present  was  the  Prince  Eegent  himself.  '  I,' 
said  Sydney  Smith — no  other  than  Sydney  Smith,  if  you 
please — '  have  always  considered  the  Duke  of  Orleaus, 
Eegent  of  France,  to  have  been  the  worst  man  in  all 
history  ;  and  he,'  looking  at  the  illustrious  guest,  '  was 
a  Prince.'  A  dead  silence  followed,  broken  by  the 
Prince  himself.  '  For  my  own  part,'  he  said,  '  I  have 
always  considered  that  he  was  excelled  by  his  tutor,  the 
Abbe  Dubois  ;  and  he  was  a  priest,  Mr.  Sydney.'  Con- 
sidering the  reputation  of  the  Prince,  and  the  kind  of 

life  he  was  generally  supposed  to  be  leading,  one  can 
li 


ti4  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

hardly  believe  that  any  man  would  have  had  the  im- 
pudence and  the  bad  taste  to  make  such  a  speech. 

We  still  constantly  hear,  in  the  modern  School  for 
Scandal,  remarks  concerning  the  honour,  the  virtue,  the 
cleverness,  the  ability,  the  beauty,  the  accomphshments 
of  our  friends.  But  it  is  behind  their  backs.  We  no 
longer  try  to  put  the  truth  openly  before  them.  We 
stab  in  the  back ;  but  we  no  longer  attack  in  front. 
One  ought  not  to  stab  at  all ;  but  the  back  is  a  portion 
of  the  frame  which  feels  nothing;.  So  far  the  chanijje  is 
a  distinct  gain. 

Society,  again,  fifty  years  ago,  was  exclusive.  You 
belonged  to  society,  or  you  did  not ;  there  was  no  over- 
lapping, there  were  no  circles  which  intersected.  And 
if  you  were  in  society  you  went  to  Almack  s.  If  you 
did  not  go  to  Almack's  you  might  be  a  very  interesting, 
praiseworthy,  well-bred  creature  ;  but  you  could  not 
claim  to  be  in  society.  Nothing  could  be  more  simple. 
Therefore,  everybody  ardently  desired  to  be  seen  at 
Almack's.  This,  however,  was  not  in  everybody's 
power.  Almack's,  for  instance,  was  far  more  exclusive 
than  the  Court.  EifT-rafT  might  go  to  Court ;  but  they 
could  not  get  to  Almack's,  for  at  its  gates  there  stood, 
not  one  angel  with  a  fiery  sword,  but  six  in  the  shape 
of  English  ladies,  terrible  in  turbans,  splendid  in  dia- 
monds, magnificent  in  satin,  and  awful  in  rank. 

They  were  the  Ladies  Jersey,  Londonderry,  Cowper, 
Brownlow,  Willoughby  d'Eresby,  and  Euston.  These 
ladies  formed  the  dreaded  Commitiee.     They  decided 


IN  SOCIETY 


115 


who  should  be  admitted  within  the  circle ;  all  apphca- 
tions  had  to  be  made  direct  to  them ;  no  one  was 
allowed  to  bring  friends.  Those  who  desired  to  go  to 
the  balls— Heavens  !  what  lady  did  not  ardently  desire? 
— were  obliged  to  send  in  a  personal  request  to  be 
allowed  the  honour.     Not  only  this,  but  they  were  also 


.  M 


'  A  SKETCH  IN  THE  PARK  '— THK  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON  AND  MRS.  AllBUTHNOT. 

obliged  to  send  for  the  answer,  which  took  the  form  of 
a  voucher — that  is,  a  ticket — or  a  simple  refusal,  from 
which  there  was  no  appeal.  Gentlemen  were  admitted 
in  the  same  way,  and  by  the  same  mode  of  application, 
as  the  ladies.  In  their  case,  it  is  pleasing  to  add,  some 
reo-ard  was  paid  to  character  as  well  as  to  birth  and 
rank,  so  that  if  a  man  openly  and  flagrantly  insulted 


ii6  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

society  he  was  supposed  not  to  be  admitted ;  but  one 
asks  with  some  trembhng  how  far  such  rigour  would 
be  extended  towards  a  young  and  unmarried  Duke. 
Almack's  was  a  sort  of  Eoyal  Academy  of  Society,  the 
Academic  diploma  being  represented  by  the  admitted 
candidate's  pedigree,  his  family  connections,  and  his. 
family  shield.  The  heartburnings,  jealousies,  and  mad- 
dening envies  caused  by  this  exclusive  circle  were,  I 
take  it,  the  cause  of  its  decline  and  fall.  Trade,  even 
of  the  grandest  and  most  successful  kind,  even  in  the 
persons  of  the  grandchildren,  had  no  chance  whatever  ; 
no  self-made  man  was  admitted ;  in  fact,  it  was  not 
recognised  that  a  man  could  make  himself;  either  he 
belonged  to  a  good  family  or  he  did  not — genius  was  not 
considered  at  all ;  admission  to  Almack's  was  like  ad- 
mission to  the  Order  of  the  Garter,  because  it  pretended 
no  nonsense  about  merit ;  wives  and  daughters  of  simple 
country  squires,  judges,  bishops,  generals,  admirals,  and 
so  forth,  knew  better  than  to  apply ;  the  intrigues, 
backstairs  influence,  solicitation  of  friends,  were  as  end- 
less at  Almack's  as  the  intrigues  at  the  Admiralty  to 
procure  promotion.  Admission  could  not,  however,  be 
bought.  So  far  the  committee  were  beyond  suspicion 
and  beyond  reproach  ;  it  was  whispered,  to  be  sure, 
that  there  was  favouritism — awful  word  !  Put  yourself 
in  the  position,  if  you  have  imagination  enough,  of  a 
young  and  beautiful  debutante.  Admission  to  Almack's 
means  for  you  that  you  can  see  your  right  and  title 
clear    to    a   coronet.     What   will   you  not  do — what 


^  ^^ 


IN  SOCIETY 


117 


cringing,  supplication,  adulation,  hypocrisies — to  secure 
that  card  ?  And  oh  !  the  happiness,  the  rapture,  of 
sending  to  Willis's  Eooms  and  finding  a  card  waiting  for 
you  !  and  the  misery  and  despair  of  receiving,  instead, 
the  terrible  letter  which  told  you,  without  reason 
assigned,  that  the  Ladies  of  the  Committee  could  not 
grant  your  request ! 

They   were   not    expensive  gatherings,   the  tickets 
being    only    7^.   6<i.    each, 
which  did  not  include  sup- 


per. 


Dancing    began    at 


eleven  to  the  strains  of 
Weippert's  and  Colhnet's 
band.  The  balls  were 
held  in  the  great  room  at 
Wilhs's,  and  the  space  re- 
served for  the  dancers  was 
roped  round.  The  two 
favourite  dances  were  the 
Valse  and  the  Galop — the  linkman 

'  sprightly    galoppade,'    as 

it  was  called.  Quadrilles  were  also  danced.  It  may  be 
interesting  to  those  who  have  kept  the  old  music  to 
learn  that  in  the  year  1836  the  favourite  quadrilles  were 
L Eclair  and  La  Tete  de  Bronze,  and  the  favourite  valse 
was  Le  Reyiiede  contre  le  Sommeil.  They  had  also 
Strauss's  waltzes. 

The  decline  and  fall  of  Almack's  was  partly  caused 
by  the  '  favouritism  '  which  not  only  kept  the  place  ex- 


ii8  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

elusive,  but  excluded  more  than  was  politic.  The  only- 
chance  for  the  continued  existence  of  such  an  institution 
is  that  it  should  be  constantly  enlarging  its  boundaries, 
just  as  the  only  chance  for  the  continued  existence  of 
such  an  aristocracy  as  ours  is  that  it  should  be  always 
admitting  new  members.  Somehow  the  kind  of  small 
circle  which  shall  include  only  the  creme  de  la  crhne  is 
always  falling  to  pieces.  We  hear  of  a  club  which  is 
to  contain  only  the  very  noblest,  but  in  a  year  or  two 
it  has  ceased  to  exist,  or  it  is  like  all  other  clubs. 
Moreover,  a  great  social  change  has  now  passed  over 
the  country.  The  stockbroker,  to  speak  in  allegory,  has 
got  into  Society.  Eespect  for  Eank,  fifty  years  ago 
universal  and  profound,  is  rapidly  decaying.  There  are 
still  many  left  who  believe  in  some  kind  of  superiority 
by  Divine  Eight  and  the  Sovereign's  gift  of  Eank,  even 
though  that  Eank  be  but  ten  years  old,  and  the  grand- 
father's shop  is  still  remembered.  We  do  not  pretend 
to  believe  any  longer  that  Eank  by  itself  makes  people 
cleverer,  more  moral,  stronger,  more  religious,  or  more 
capable ;  but  some  of  us  still  believe  that,  in  some 
unknown  way,  it  makes  them  superior.  These  thinkers 
are  getting  fewer.  And  the  decay  of  agriculture, 
which  promises  to  continue  and  increase,  assists  the 
decay  of  Eespect  for  Eank,  because  such  an  aristocracy 
as  that  of  these  islands,  when  it  becomes  poor,  becomes 
contemptible. 

The  position  of  women,  social  and  intellectual,  has 
wholly  changed.     Nothing  was  heard  then  of  women's 


IN  SOCIETY  119 

equality,  nothing  of  woman  suffrage  ;  there  were  no 
women  on  Boards,  there  were  none  who  lectured  and 
spoke  in  public,  there  were  few  who  wrote  seriously. 
Women  regarded  themselves,  and  spoke  of  themselves, 
as  inferior  to  men  in  understanding,  as  they  were  in 
bodily  strength.  Their  case  is  not  likely  to  be  under- 
stated by  one  of  themselves.  Hear,  therefore,  what 
Mrs.  John  Sandford — nowadays  she  would  have  been 
Mrs.  Ethel  Sandford,  or  Mrs.  Christiau-and  maiden-name 
Sandford — says  upon  her  sisters.  It  is  in  a  book  called 
'  Woman  in  her  Social  and  Domestic  Character.' 

*  There  is  something  unfeminine  in  independence. 
It  is  contrary  to  Nature,  and  therefore  it  offends.  A 
really  sensible  woman  feels  her  dependence ;  she  does 
what  she  can,  but  she  is  conscious  of  inferiority^  and 
therefore  grateful  for  support.^  The  italics  are  mine. 
*  In  everything  that  women  attempt  they  should  show 
their  consciousness  of  dependence. ....  They  should 
remember  that  by  them  influence  is  to  be  obtained,  not 
by  assumption,  but  by  a  delicate  appeal  to  affection  or 
principle.  Women  in  this  respect  are  something  hke 
children — the  more  they  show  their  need  of  support, 
the  more  engaging  they  are.  The  appropriate  expression 
of  dependence  is  gentleness.'  The  whole  work  is  exe- 
cuted in  this  spirit,  the  keynote  being  the  inferiority 
of  woman.  Heavens!  with  what  a  storm  would  such  a 
book  be  now  received ! 

In  the  year  1835  Herr  Raumer,  the  German  his- 
torian,   visited    England,    and    made    a   study    of    the 


I20  FIFTY   YEARS   AGO 

English  people,  which  he  afterwards  pubhshed.  From 
this  book  one  learns  a  great  deal  concerning  the  manners 
of  the  time.  For  instance,  he  went  to  a  dinner-party- 
given  by  a  certain  noble  lord,  at  which  the  whole 
service  was  of  silver,  a  silver  hot- water  dish  being 
placed  under  every  plate ;  the  dinner  lasted  until  raid- 
night,  and  the  German  guest  drank  too  much  wine, 
though  he  missed  '  most  of  the  healths.'  It  was  then 
the  custom  at  private  dinner-parties  to  go  on  drinking 
healths  after  dinner,  and  to  sit  over  the  wine  till  mid- 
night. He  goes  to  an  'At  Home'  at  Lady  A.'s.  '  Almost 
all  the  men,'  he  tells  us,  'were  dressed  in  black  coats, 
black  or  coloured  waistcoats,  and  black  or  white  cravats.' 
Of  what  colour  were  the  coloured  waistcoats,  and  of 
what  colour  the  coats  which  were  not  black,  and  how 
were  the  other  men  dressed?  Perhaps  one  or  two  may 
have  been  Bishops  in  evening  dress.  Now  the  evening 
dress  of  a  Bishop  used  to  be  blue.  I  once  saw  a  Bishop 
dressed  all  in  blue — he  was  a  very  aged  Bishop,  and  it 
was  at  a  City  Company's  dinner — and  I  was  told  it  had 
formerly  been  the  evening  dress  of  Bishops,  but  was 
now  only  worn  by  the  most  ancient  among  them.  Herr 
Raumer  mentions  the  'countless'  carriages  in  Hyde 
Park,  and  observes  tliat  no  one  could  afford  to  keep  a 
carriage  who  had  not  3,000/.  a  year  at  least.  And  at 
fashionable  dances  he  observes  that  they  dance  nothing 
but  waltzes.  The  English  ladies  he  finds  beautiful,  and 
of  the  men  he  observes  that  the  more  they  eat  and 
drink   the   colder   they  become — because   they   drank 


IN  SOCIETY  X2I 

port,  no  doubt,  under  the  influence  of  which,  though 
the  heart  glows  more  and  more,  there  comes  a  time 
when  the  brow  clouds,  and  the  speech  thickens,  and 
the  tongue  refuses  to  act. 

The  dinners  were  conducted  on  primitive  principles. 
Except  in  great  houses,  where  the  meat  and  game  were 
carved  by  the  butler,  everything  was  carved  on  the 
table.  The  host  sat  behind  the  haunch  of  mutton,  and 
'  helped '  with  zeal ;  the  guests  took  the  ducks,  the 
turkey,  the  liare,  and  the  fowls,  and  did  their  part, 
conscious  of  critical  eyes.  A  dinner  was  a  terrible 
ordeal  for  a  young  man  who,  perhaps,  found  himself 
called  upon  to  dissect  a  pair  of  ducks.  He  took  up 
the  knife  with  burning  cheeks  and  perspiring  nose  ; 
now,  at  last,  an  impostor,  one  who  knew  not  the  ways 
of  polite  society,  would  be  discovered  ;  he  began  to 
feel  for  the  joints,  while  the  cold  eyes  of  his  hostess 
gazed  reproachfully  upon  him — ladies,  in  those  days, 
knew  good  carving,  and  could  carve  for  themselves. 
Perhaps  he  had,  with  a  ghastly  grin,  to  confess  that  he 
could  not  find  those  joints.  Then  the  dish  was  removed 
and  given  to  another  guest,  a  horribly  self-reliant 
creature,  who  laughed  and  talked  while  he  dexterously 
sliced  the  breast  and  cut  off  the  legs.  If,  in  his  agony, 
the  poor  wretch  would  take  refuge  in  the  bottle,  he  had 
to  wait  until  some  one  invited  him  to  take  wine — hor- 
rible tyranny !  The  dinner-table  was  ornamented  with 
a  great  epergne  of  silver  or  glass ;  after  dinner  the  cloth 
was  removed,  showing  the  table,  deep  in  colour,  lustrous, 


122  FIFTY    YEARS   AGO 

well  waxed;  and  the  gentlemen  began  real  business  with 
the  bottle  after  the  ladies  had  gone. 

Very  httle  need  be  said  about  the  Court.  It  was  then 
in  the  hands  of  a  few  families.  It  had  no  connection 
at  all  with  the  life  of  the  country,  which  went  on  as  if 
there  were  no  Court  at  all.  It  is  strange  that  in  these 
fifty  years  of  change  the  Court  should  have  altered  so 
little.  Now,  as  then,  the  Court  neither  attracts,  nor 
attempts  to  attract,  any  of  the  leaders  in  Art,  Science, 
or  Literature.  Now,  as  then,  the  Court  is  a  thing  apart 
from  the  life  of  the  country.  For  the  best  class  of  all, 
those  who  are  continually  advancing  the  country  in 
science,  or  keeping  alight  the  sacred  lamp  of  letters, 
who  are  its  scholars,  architects,  engineers,  artists,  poets, 
authors,  journalists,  who  are  the  merchant  adventurers 
of  modern  times,  who  are  the  preachers  and  teachers, 
the  Court  simply  does  not  exist.  One  states  the  fact 
without  comment.  But  it  should  be  stated,  and  it 
should  be  clearly  understood.  The  whole  of  those  men 
who  in  this  generation  maintain  the  greatness  of  our  country 
in  the  ways  where  alone  greatness  is  desirable  or  memorable, 
except  in  arms,  the  only  men  of  this  generation  whose 
memories  will  live  and  adorn  the  Victorian  era,  are 
strangers  to  the  Court.  It  seems  a  great  pity.  An  ideal 
Court  sliould  be  the  centre  of  everything — Art,  Letters, 
Science,  all. 

As  for  the  rest  of  society — how  the  people  had  drums 
and  routs  and  balls;  how  they  angled  for  husbands; 
now  they  were  hollow  and  unnatural,  and  so  forth — 


IN  SOCIETY 


123 


you  may  read  about  it  in  the  pages  of  Thackeray. 
And  I,  for  one,  have  never  been  able  to  understand 
how  Thackeray  got  his  knowledge  of  these  exclusive 
circles.  Instead  of  dancing  at  Almack's  he  was  taking 
his  chop  and  stout  at  tlie  Cock ;  instead  of  gambling 
at  Crockford's  he  was  writing  '  copy '  for  any  paper 
which  would  take  it.  When  and  where  did  he  meet 
Miss  Newcome  and  Lady  Kew  and  Lord  Steyne  ?     Per- 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 


haps  he  wrote  of  them  by  intuition,  as  Disraeli  wrote 
the  '  Young  Duke.'  '  My  son,  sir,'  said  the  elder 
Disraeli  proudly,  'has  never,  I  believe,  even  seen  a 
Duke.' 

One  touch  more.  There  is  before  me  a  beautiful, 
solemn  work,  one  in  wliich  the  writer  feels  his  responsi- 
bihties  almost  too  profoundly.  It  is  on  no  less  important 
a   subject    than    Etiquette",   containing   Rules    for    the 


124    .  I'IFTY    YEARS   AGO 

Conduct  of  Life  on  the  most  grave  and  serious  occasions. 
I  permit  myself  one  or  two  extracts  : — 

*  Familiarity  is  the  greatest  vice  of  Society.  When 
an  acquaintance  says  "My  dear  fellow,"  cut  him  imme- 
diately.' 

'  Never  enter  your  own  house  without  bowing  to 
every  one  you  may  meet  there.' 

'Never  ask  a  lady  any  questions  about  anything 
whatever.' 

*  If  you  have  drunk  wine  with  every  one  at  the 
table  and  wish  for  more ' — Heavens  !  More  !  And 
after  drinking  with  every  one  at  the  table  ! — '  wait  till 
the  cloth  is  removed.' 

'  Never  permit  the  sanctity  of  the  drawing-room  to 
be  violated  by  a  Boot.' 


CHAPTEE  Vm. 

AT   THE    PLAY    AND   THE   SHOW. 

Fifty  years  ago  the  Theatre  was,  far  more  than  at 
present,  the  favourite  amusement  of  the  Londoners. 
It  was  a  passion  with  them.  They  did  not  go  only  to 
laugh  and  be  pleased  as  we  go  now ;  they  went  as 
critics ;  the  pit  preserves  to  this  day  a  reputation,  long 
since  lost,  for  critical  power.  A  large  number  of  the 
audience  went  to  every  new  performance  of  a  stock 
piece  in  order  to  criticise.  After  the  theatre  they 
repaired  to  the  Albion  or  the  Cock  for  supper,  and  to 
talk  over  the  performance.  Fifty  years  ago  there  were 
about  eighteen  theatres,  for  a  London  of  two  millions.^ 
These  theatres  were  not  open  all  the  year  round, 
but  it  was  reckoned  that  20,000  people  went  every 
night  to  the  theatre.  There  are  now  thirty  theatres  at 
least  open  nearly  the  whole  year  round.  I  doubt  if 
there    are   many   more    than    20,000    at    all   of    them 

'  The  following  were  the  London  theatres  in  the  year  1837 :  Her  Ma- 
jesty's, formerly  the  King's :  Drury  Lane,  Covent  Garden,  the  '  Sumniev 
House,'  or  Haymarket;  the  Lyceum,  the  Prince's  (now  St.  James's),  the 
Adelplii,  the  City  of  London  (Norton  Folgate),  the  Surrey,  Astley's,  the 
Queen's  (afterwards  the  Prince  of  Wales's),  the  Olympic,  and  the  Strand, 
the  Cohuig  (originally  opened  as  the  Victoria  in  1833),  Sadler's  Wells,  the 
Royal  Pavilion,  the  Garrick,  and  the  Clarence  (now  the  King's  Cross). 


126  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

to":ether  on  an  averai:i;e  in  one  nif;jlit.  Yet  London  lias 
doubled,  and  the  visitors  to  London  have  been  multi- 
plied by  ten.  It  is  by  the  visitors  that  the  theatres  are 
kept  up.  The  people  of  London  have  in  great  measure 
lost  their  taste  for  the  theatres,  because  they  have  gone 
to  live  in  the  suburbs.  Who,  for  instance,  that  lives  in 
Hampstead  and  wishes  to  get  up  in  good  time  in  the 
morning  can  take  his  wife  often  to  the  theatre  ?  It 
takes  an  hour  to  drive  into  town,  the  hour  after  dinner. 
The  play  is  over  at  a  little  after  eleven  ;  if  he  takes  a 
cab,  the  driver  is  sulky  at  the  thought  of  going  up  the 
hill  and  getting  back  again  without  another  fare ;  if  he 
goes  and  returns  in  a  brougham,  it  doubles  the  expense. 
Formerly,  when  everybody  lived  in  town,  they  could 
walk.  Again,  the  price  of  seats  has  enormously  gone 
up.  Where  there  were  two  rows  of  stalls  at  the  same 
price  as  the  dress  circle: — namely,  four  shillings — there 
are  now  a  dozen  at  the  price  of  half  a  guinea.  And  it 
is  very  much  more  the  fashion  to  take  the  best  places, 
so  that  the  dress  circle  is  no  longer  the  same  highly 
respectable  part  of  the  house,  while  the  upper  boxes 
are  now  '  out  of  it '  altogether,  and,  as  for  the  pit,  no 
man  knoweth  whether  there  be  any  pit  still. 

Besides,  there  are  so  many  more  distractions  ;  a  more 
widely  spread  habit  of  reading,  more  music,  more  art, 
more  society,  a  fuller  life.  The  theatre  was  formerly 
— it  is  still  to  many — the  only  school  of  conversation, 
wit,  manners,  and  sentiment,  the  chief  excitement  which 
took  them  out  of  their  daily  lives,  the  most  delightful, 


AT  THE  FLAY  AND   THE  SHOW  127 

the  most  entrancing  manner  of  spending  the  evening. 
If  the  theatre  were  the  same  to  the  people  of  London 
as  it  used  to  be,  the  average  attendance,  counting  the 
visitors,  would  be  not  20,000  but  120,000. 

The  reason  why  some  of  the  houses  were  open  for 
six  months  only  was  that  the  Lord  Chancellor  grantea 
a  licence  for  that  period  only,  except  to  the  patent 
houses.  The  Haymarket  was  a  summer  house,  from 
April  to  October;  the  Adelphi  a  winter  house,  from 
October  to  April. 

The  most  fashionable  of  the  houses  was  Her  Majesty's, 
where  only  Italian  Opera  was  performed.  Everybody 
in  society  was  obliged  to  have  a  box  for  the  season,  for 
which  sums  were  paid  varying  with  the  place  in  the 
house  and  the  rank  and  wealth  of  the  tenant.  Thus 
the  old  Duke  of  Gloucester  used  to  pay  three  hundred 
guineas  for  the  season.  On  levee  days  and  drawing- 
rooms  the  fashionable  world  went  to  the  Opera  in  their 
Court  dresses,  feathers,  and  diamonds,  and  all — a  very 
moving  spectacle.  Those  who  only  took  a  box  in  order 
to  keep  up  appearances,  and  because  it  was  necessary 
for  one  in  society  to  have  a  box,  used  to  sell  seats — 
commonly  called  bones,  because  a  round  numbered  bone 
was  the  ticket  of  admission — to  their  friends  ;  sometimes 
they  let  their  box  for  a  single  night,  a  month,  or  the 
whole  season,  by  means  of  the  agents,  so  that,  except 
for  the  honour  of  it,  as  the  man  said  when  'the  bottom 
of  his  sedan-chair  fell  out,  one  might  as  well  have  had 
none  at  all. 


128 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


The  prices  of  admission  to  the  theatres  were  very 
much  less  than  obtain  at  the  present  day.  At  Drury 
Lane  the  boxes  and  stalls,  of  which  there  were  two  or 
three  rows  only,  were  "is.  each ;  the  pit  was  os.  6<i., 
the  upper  boxes  25.,  and  the  gallery  \s.     At  Co  vent 


LISTON    AS    '  PAUL    PRY  ' 
(From  a  Drawing  by  George  Cruikshank) 

Garden,  where  they  were  great  at  spectacle,  with  per- 
forming animals,  the  great  Bunn  being  lessee,  tlie  prices 
were  lower,  the  boxes  being  45.,  the  pit  2*.,  the  upper 
boxes  \s.  Qd.,  and  gallery  Is.  At  the  Haymarket  the 
boxes  were  S^.,  the  pit  os.,  and  the  gallery  Is.  Qd. 

The  actors  and  actresses  were  many  and  good.     At 


r^i  5^^ 


"iS^C^ 


AT  THE  FLAY  AND   THE  SHOW  129 

the  Haymarket  they  had  Farren,  Webster,  Buckstone, 
Mrs.  Glover,  and  Mrs.  Humby.  At  the  Olympic,  Ellis- 
ton,  Liston,  and  Madame  Vestris.  Helen  Faiicit  made 
her  first  appearance  in  1835  ;  Miss  Fanny  Kemble  hers 
in  1830.  Charles  Mathews,  Harley,  Macready,  and 
Charles  Kean  were  all  playing.  I  hardly  think  that  in 
fifty  years'  time  so  good  a  fist  will  be  made  of  actors  of 
the  present  day  whose  memory  has  lasted  so  long  as 
those  of  1837.  The  salaries  of  actors  and  singers  varied 
greatly,  of  course.  Malibran  received  125Z.  a  niglit, 
Charles  Kean  50/.  a  night,  Macready  30Z.  a  week, 
Farren  20/.  a  week,  and  so  on,  down  to  the  humble 
chorister — they  then  called  her  a  figurante — with  her 
125.  or  I85.  a  week. 

As  for  the  national  drama,  I  suppose  it  had  never 
before  been  in  so  wretched  a  state.  Talfourd's  play  of 
'  Ion '  was  produced  about  this  time  ;  but  one  good  play 
— supposing  '  Ion '  to  be  a  good  play — is  hardly  enough 
to  redeem  the  character  of  the  age  There  were  also 
tragedies  by  Miss  Mitford  and  Miss  Baillie — strange  that 
no  woman  has  ever  written  even  a  tolerable  play — but 
these  failed  to  keep  the  stage.  One  Mr.  Maturin,  now 
dying  out  of  recollection,  also  wrote  tragedies.  The 
com.edies  and  farces  were  written  by  Planche,  Reynolds, 
Peake,  Theodore  Hook,  Dibdin,  Leman  Eede,  Poole, 
Maddison  Morton,  and  Moncriefi*.  A  really  popular 
writer,  we  learn  with  envy  and  astonishment,  would 
make  as  much  as  30/.,  or  even  40/.,  by  a  good  piece. 
Think  of  making  30/.  or  40/.  by  a  good  piece  at  the 


130 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


-'■^  va*^-^ -, 


theatre  !  Was  not  that  noble  encouragement  for  the 
playwrights  ?  Thirty  pounds  for  one  piece  !  It  takes 
one's  breath  away.  Would  not  Mr.  Gilbert,  Mr.  Wills, 
and  Mr.  George  Sims  be  proud  and  Iiappy  men  if  they 
could  get   30/. — a   whole  lump   of   30/. — for  a  single 

piece  ?  We  can  ima- 
gine the  tears  of  joy 
running  down  their 
cheeks. 

The  decline  of  the 
drama  was  attributed 
by  Eilumer  to  the  entire 
absence  of  any  protec- 
tion for  the  dramatist. 
This  is  no  doubt  partly 
true  ;  but  the  dramatist 
was  protected,  to  a 
certain  extent,  by  the 
difficulty  of  getting 
copies  of  his  work.  Shorthand  writers  used  to  try — 
they  still  try — to  take  down,  unseen,  the  dialogue. 
Generally,  however,  they  are  detected  in  the  act  and 
desired  to  withdraw.  As  a  rule,  if  the  dramatist  did  not 
print  the  plays,  he  was  safe,  except  from  treachery  on  the 
part  of  the  prompter.  The  low  prices  paid  for  dramatic 
work  were  the  chief  causes  of  the  decline — say,  rather, 
the  dreadful  decay,  dry  rot,  and  galloping  consumption 
— of  the  drama  fifty  years  ago.  Who,  for  instance, 
would  ever  expect  good  fiction  to  be  produced  if  it  was 


^h^.  /^^^^^^ 


AT  THE  PLAY  AND   THE  SHOW  131 

rewarded  at  the  rate  of  no  more  than  30/.,  or  even  300/., 
a  novel  ?  Great  prizes  are  incentives  for  good  work. 
Good  craftsmen  will  no  longer  work  if  the  pay  is  bad  ; 
or,  if  they  work  at  all,  they  will  not  throw  their  hearts 
into  the  work.  The  great  success  of  Walter  Scott  was 
the  cause  vvliy  Dickens,  Thackeray,  George  Eliot,  Charles 
Eeadc,  and  the  many  second-rate  novelists  chose  fiction 
rather  than  the  drama  for  their  energies.  One  or  two 
of  them,  Dickens  and  Reade,  for  instance,  were  always 
hankering  after  the  stasje.  Had  dramatists  received  the 
same  treatment  in  England  as  in  France,  many  of  these 
writers  would  have  seriously  turned  their  attention  to 
the  theatre,  and  our  modern  dramatic  literature  would 
have  been  as  rich  as  our  work  in  fiction.  The  stage 
now  ofiers  a  great  fortune,  a  far  greater  fortune,  won 
much  more  swiftly  than  can  be  got  by  fiction,  to  those 
who  succeed. 

As  for  the  pieces  actually  produced  about  this 
period,  they  were  chiefly  adaptations  from  novels. 
Thus,  we  find  '  Esmeralda '  and  '  Quasimodo,'  two  plays 
from  Victor  Hugo's  '  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame  ;  ' 
*  Lucillo,'  from  '  The  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine,'  by  Lytton  ; 
Bulwer,  indeed,  was  continually  being  dramatised  ;  '  Paul 
Clifford '  and  'Rienzi,'  among  others, making  their  appear- 
ance on  the  stage.  For  other  plays  there  were  '  Zampa ' 
or  '  The  Corsair,'  due  to  Byron  ;  '  The  Waterman,' '  The 
Irish  Tutor,'  '  My  Poll  and  my  Partner  Joe,'  with  T.  P. 
Cooke,  at  the  Surrey  Theatre.  The  comedy  of  the  time 
is  very  well  illustrated  by  Lytton's  *  Money,'  stagey  and 


132 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


unreal.     The  scenery,  dresses,  and  general  mise- en-scent 
would  now  be  considered  contemptible. 

Apart  from  the  Italian  Opera,  music  was  very  well 
supported.     There  were  concerts  in  great  numbers  :  the 

Philharmonic,  the 
Vocal  Society,  and 
the  Eoyal  Academy 
of  Music  gave  their 
concerts  at  the 
King's  Ancient  Con- 
cert Kooms,  Han- 
over Square.  Willis's 
Eoomswere  also  used 
for  music ;  and  the 
Cecilia  Society  gave 
its  concerts  in  Moor- 
gate  Street. 

There  were  many 
other  shows,  apart 
from  the  well-known 
sights  of  town. 
Madame  Tussaud's 
Gallery  in  Baker 
Street,  the  Hippo- 
drome at  Bayswater,  the  Colosseum,  the  Diorama  in 
Eegent's  Park,  the  Panorama  in  Leicester  Square — 
where  you  could  see  '  Peru  and  the  Andes,  or  the 
Village  engulfed  by  the  Avalanche ' — and  the  Panorama 
in  Eegent  Street  attracted  the  less  frivolous  and  those 


T.    P.    COOKE    IN    '  BLACK -EYED    SUSAN  ' 


A;^Mi^f^ 


AT  THE  PLAY  AND   THE  SHOW 


"^Zl 


who  came  to  town  for  the  improvement  of  their  minds. 
For  Londoners  themselves  there  were  the  Vauxhall 
Gardens  first  and  foremost — the  most  dehghtful  places 
of  amusement  that  London  ever  possessed  except, 
perhaps,  Belsize.  Everybody  went  to  Vauxhall ;  those 
who  were  respectable  and  those  who  were  not.  Far 
more  beautiful  than  the  electric  lights  in  the  Gardens 


VAUXHALL    GAKDENS 


of  the  '  Colonies '  were  the  two  hundred  thousand 
variegated  oil  lamps,  festooned  among  the  trees  of 
Vauxhall ;  there  was  to  be  found  music,  singing,  act- 
ing, and  dancing.  Hither  came  the  gallant  and  golden 
youth  from  the  West  End ;  here  were  seen  sober  and 
honest  merchants  with  their  wives  and  daughters  ;  here 
were  ladies  of  doubtful  reputation  and  ladies  about 
whose  reputation  there  could  be  no  doubt  ;  here  there 


r34  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

were  painted  arbours  wliere  they  brought  you  the 
famous  Vauxhall  ham — '  shced  cobwebs; 'the  famous 
Vauxhall  beef — '  book  mushn,  pickled  and  boiled  ; '  and 
the  famous  Vauxhall  punch — Heavens  !  how  the  honest 
folk  did  drink  that  punch  ! 

I  have  before  me  an  account  of  an  evening  spent  at 
Vauxhall  about  this  time  by  an  eminent  drysalter  of  the 
City,  his  partner,  a  certain  Tom,  and  two  ladies,  the  dry- 
salter's  wife  and  his  daughter  Lydia ;  '  a  laughter-loving 
lass  of  eighteen,  who  dearly  loved  a  bit  of  gig.'  Do  you 
know,  gentle  reader,  what  is  a  '  bit  of  gig  '  ?  This  young 
lady  laughs  at  everything,  and  cries, '  What  a  bit  of  gig ! ' 
There  was  singing,  of  course,  and  after  the  singing  there 
were  fireworks,  and  after  the  firevrorks  an  ascent  on  the 
rope.  '  The  ascent  on  the  rope,  which  Lydia  had  never 
before  witnessed,  was  to  her  particularly  mteresting. 
For  the  first  time  during  the  evening  she  looked  serious, 
and  as  the  mingled  rays  of  the  moon  (then  shining 
gloriously  in  the  dark  blue  heavens,  attended  by  her 
twinkling  handmaidens,  the  stars),  which  ever  and  anon 
shot  down  as  the  rockets  mounted  upwards,  mocking 
the  mimic  pyrotechnia  of  man,  and  the  flashes  of  red 
fire  played  upon  her  beautiful  white  brow  and  ripe 
lips — blushing  like  a  cleft  cherry — we  thought  for  a 
moment  that  Tom  was  a  happy  blade.  While  we  were 
gazing  on  her  fine  face,  her  eye  suddenly  assumed  its 
wonted  levity,  and  she  exclaimed  in  a  laughing  tone — 
"  Now,  if  the  twopenny  postman  of  the  rockets  v^ere  to 
mistake  one  of  the  directions  and  dehver  it  among  the 


AT  THE  FLAY  AND   THE  SHOW  135 

crowd  so  as  to  set  fire  to  six  or  seven  muslin  dresses, 
what  a  bit  of  gig  it  would  be  !  "  ' 

Another  delightful  place  was  the  Surrey  Zoological 
Gardens,  which  occupied  fifteen  acres,  and  had  a  large 
lake  in  the  middle,  very  useful  for  fireworks  and  the 
showing  off  of  the  Mount  Vesuvius  they  stuck  up  on 
one  side  of  it.  The  carnivorous  animals  were  kept  in 
a  single  building,  under  a  great  glazed  cupola,  but  the 
elephants,  bears,  monkeys,  &c.,  had  separate  buildings 
of  their  own.  Flower  shows,  balloon  ascents,  fireworks, 
and  all  kinds  of  exciting  things  went  on  at  the  Surrey 
Zoo. 

The  Art  Galleries  opened  every  year,  and,  besides 
the  National  Gallery,  there  were  the  Society  of  British 
Artists,  the  Exhibition  of  Water  Colours,  and  the  British 
Institution  in  Pall  Mall.  At  the  Eoyal  Academy  of 
1837,  Turner  exhibited  his  '  Juliet,'  Etty  a  '  Psyche  and 
Yenus,'  Landseer  a  '  Scene  in  Ohillingham  Park,'  Wilkie 
the  '  Peep  0'  Day  Boy's  Cabin,'  and  Eoberts  the  *  Chapel 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  at  Granada.' 

There  were  Billiard  Eooms,  where  a  young  man 
from  the  country  who  prided  himself  upon  his 
play  could  get  very  prettily  handled.  There  were 
Cigar  Divans,  but  as  yet  only  one  or  two,  for  the 
smoking  of  cigars  was  a  comparatively  new  thing — in 
fact,  one  who  wrote  in  the  year  1829  thought  it 
necessary  to  lay  down  twelve  solemn  rules  for  the  right 
smoking  of  a  cigar ;  there  were  also  Gambling  Hells, 

of  which  more  anon. 

18 


136  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

Fifty  years  ago,  in  short,  we  amused  ourselves  very 
well.  We  were  fond  of  shows,  and  there  were  plenty 
of  them  ;  we  liked  an  al  fresco  entertainment,  and  we 
could  have  it ;  we  were  not  quite  so  picksome  in  the 
matter  of  company  as  we  are  now,  and  therefore  we 
endured  the  loud  vulgarities  of  the  tradesman  and  his 
family,  and  shut  our  eyes  when  certain  fashionably 
dressed  ladies  passed  by  showing  their  happiness  by 
the  loudness  of  their  laughter ;  we  even  sat  with  our 
daughter  in  the  very  next  box  to  that  in  which  young 
Lord  Tomnoddy  was  entertaining  these  young  ladies 
with  cold  chicken  and  pink  champagne.  It  is,  we 
know,  the  privilege  of  rank  to  disregard  morals  in 
public  as  well  as  in  private.  Then  we  had  supper  and 
a  bowl  of  punch,  and  so  home  to  bed. 

Those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  doings  of  Corin- 
thian Tom  and  Bob  Logic  are  acquainted  with  the 
Night  Side  of  London  as  it  was  a  i&^  years  before 
1837.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  was  far  darker,  far  more 
vicious,  far  more  dangerous  fifty  years  ago  than  it  is 
now.  Heaven  knows  that  we  have  a  Night  Side  still, 
and  a  very  ugly  side  it  is,  but  it  is  earlier  by  many 
hours  than  it  used  to  be,  and  it  is  comparatively  free 
from  gambling.houses,  from  bullies,  blackmailers,  and 
sharks. 


CHAPTER  DC. 

IN   THE    HOUSE. 

On  November  20,  1837,  the  young  Queen  opened  her 
first  Parliament  in  person.  The  day  was  brilliant  with 
sunshine,  the  crowds  from  Buckingham  Palace  to  the 
House  were  immense,  the  House  of  Lords  was  crammed 
with  Peers  and  the  gallery  with  Peeresses,  who  oc- 
cupied every  seat,  and  even  '  ruslied  '  the  reporters' 
gallery,  three  reporters  only  having  been  fortunate 
enough  to  take  their  places  before  the  rush.^ 

When  Her  Majesty  arrived  and  had  taken  her  place, 
there  was  the  rush  from  the  Lower  House. 

'  Her  Majesty  having  taken  the  oath  against  Popery, 
which  she  did  in  a  slow,  serious,  and  audible  manner, 
proceeded  to  read  the  Royal  Speech  ;  and  a  specimen 
of  more  tasteful  and  effective  elocution  it  has  never 
been  my  fortune  to  hear.  Her  voice  is  clear,  and  her 
enunciation  distinct  in  no  ordinary  degree.  Her  utter- 
ance is  timed  with  admirable  judgment  to  the  ear  :  it  is 
the  happy  medium  between  too  slow  and   too   rapid. 

^  I  am  indebted  for  the  whole  of  this  chapter  to  Random  Recollections  0/ 
the  Lords  and  Commons,  1838. 


138 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


Nothing  could  be  more  accurate  than  her  pronuncia- 
tion ;  while  the  musical  intonations  of  her  voice  im- 
parted a  peculiar  charm  to  the  other  attributes  of  her 


THE    '  NEW  '    HOrSES    OF    PAELIAMENT,    FROM    THE    RIVEB 

(First  Stone  laid  1840.    Sir  Charles  Barry,  architect) 


IN  THE  HOUSE  139 

elocution.  The  most  perfect  stillness  reigned  through 
the  place  while  Her  Majesty  was  reading  her  Speech. 
Not  a  breath  was  to  be  heard :  had  a  person,  unblessed 
with  the  power  of  vision,  been  suddenly  taken  within 
hearing  of  Her  Majesty,  while  she  was  reading  her 
Speech,  he  might  have  remained  some  time  under  the 
impression  that  there  was  no  one  present  but  herself. 
Her  self-possession  was  the  theme  of  universal  admira- 
tion. 

*  In  person  Her  Majesty  is  considerably  below  the 
average  height.  Her  figure  is  good  ;  rather  inclined, 
as  far  as  one  could  judge  from  seeing  her  in  her  robes 
of  state,  to  the  slender  form.  Every  one  who  has  seen 
her  must  have  been  struck  with  her  singularly  fine 
bust.  Her  complexion  is  clear,  and  has  all  the  indica- 
tions of  excellent  health  about  it.  Her  features  are 
small,  and  partake  a  good  deal  of  the  Grecian  ckst. 
Her  face,  without  being  strikingly  handsome,  is  remark- 
ably pleasant,  and  is  indicative  of  a  mild  and  amiable 
disposition.* 

In  the  House  of  Lords  the  most  prominent  figures 
were,  I  suppose,  those  of  Lord  Brougham  and  the  Duke 
of  Wellington.  The  debates  in  the  Upper  House, 
enhvened  by  the  former,  and  by  Lords  Melbourne, 
Lyndhurst,  and  others,  were  lively  and  animated,  com- 
pared with  the  languor  of  the  modern  House.  The 
Duke  of  Rutland,  the  Marquis  of  Bute,  the  Marquis  of 
Camden  (who  paid  back  into  the  Treasury  every  year 
the  salary  he  received  as  Teller  of  the  Exchequer),  the 


I40  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

Earls  of  Stanhope,  Devon,  Falmouth,  Lords  Strangford, 
Eolls,  Alvanley,  and  Kedesdale  were  the  leaders  of  the 
Conservatives.  The  Marquis  of  Sligo,  the  Marquis  of 
Northampton,  the  Earls  of  Eosebery,  Gosford,  Minto, 
Shrewsbury,  and  Lichfield,  Lords  Lynedoch  and 
Portman  were  the  leaders  of  the  Liberals.     With  the 


LORD    MELBOHRNE 


exceptions  of  Wellington,  Brougham,  Melbourne,  and 
Eedesdale,  it  is  melancholy  to  consider  that  these 
illustrious  names  are  nothing  more  than  names,  and 
convey  no  associations  to  the  present  generation. 

Among*  the  members  of  the  Lower  House  were 
many  more  who  have  left  behind  them  memories  which 
are  not  likely  to  be  soon  forgotten.     Sir  Eobert  Peel, 


IN  THE  HOUSl 


141 


Lord  Stanley,  Thomas  Macaiilay,  Cobbett,  Lord  John 
Russell,  Sir  John  Cam  Hobhouse,  Lord  Palmerston,  Sir 
Francis  Burdett,  Hume,  Roebuck,  O'Connell,  Lytton 
Bulwer,  Benjamin  DTsraeli,  and  last  sole  survivor, 
William  Ewart  Gladstone,  were  all  in  the  Parliaments 


THOMAS    BABINGTON    SUCADLAY 


immediately  before  or  immediately  after  tlie  Queen's 
Accession. 

If  you  would  like  to  know  how  these  men  impressed 
their  contemporaries,  read  the  following  extracts  from 
Grant's  '  Random  Recollections.' 

'  Mr.  Thomas  Macaulay,  the  late  member  for  Leeds, 
and  now  a  member  of  Council  in  Lidia,  could  boast  of 


142 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


a  brilliant,  if  not  a  very  long  Parliamentary  career. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  who  at  once  raised  himself  to 
the  first  rank  in  the  Senate.  His  maiden  speech  elec- 
trified the  House,  and  called  forth  the  highest  com- 
pliments to  the  speaker  from  men  of  all  parties.  He 
was  careful  to  preserve  the  laurels  he  had  thus  so 
easily  and  suddenly  won.     He  was  a  man  of  shrewd 


LORD    PALMEESTON 


mind,  and  knew  that  if  he  spoke  often,  the  probability 
Avas  he  would  not  speak  so  well ;  and  that  consequently 
there  could  be  no  more  likely  means  of  lowering  him 
from  the  elevated  station  to  which  he  had  raised  him- 
self, than  frequently  addressing  the  House. 

'  His  speeches  were  always  most  carefully  studied, 
and  committed   to    memory,   exactly  as   he   delivered 


IN  THE  HOUSE  143 

them,  beforehand.     He  bestowed  a  world  of  labour  on 
their   preparation ;    and,    certainly,   never  was  labour 


BCRDETT,    HUME,    AND    O  CONNELL 
(From  a  Drawing  by  HJ.) 


bestowed  to  more  purpose.     In  every  sentence  you  saw 
the  man   of  genius — the  profound  scholar — the   deep 


144  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

thinker — the  close  and  powerful  reasoner.  You  scarcely 
knew  which  most  to  admire — the  beauty  of  his  ideas, 
or  of  the  language  in  which  they  were  clothed.' 

'  Lord  John  Eussell  is  one  of  the  worst  speakers  in 
the  House,  and  but  for  his  excellent  private  character, 
his  family  connections,  and  his  consequent  influence  in 
the  political  world,  would  not  be  tolerated.  There  are 
many  far  better  speakers,  who,  notwithstanding  their 
innumerable  efforts  to  catch  the  Speaker's  eye  in  the 
course  of  important  debates,  hardly  ever  succeed  ;  or, 
if  they  do,  are  generally  put  down  by  the  clamour 
of  honourable  members.  His  voice  is  weak  and  his 
enunciation  very  imperfect.  He  speaks  in  general  in 
so  low  a  tone  as  to  be  inaudible  to  more  than  one-half 
of  the  House.  His  style  is  often  in  bad  taste,  and  he 
stammers  and  stutters  at  every  fourth  or  fifth  sentence. 
When  he  is  audible  he  is  always  clear  ;  there  is  no 
mistaking  his  meaning.  Generally  his  speeches  are 
feeble  in  matter  as  well  as  manner  ;  but  on  some  great 
occasions  I  have  knoAvn  him  make  very  able  speeches, 
more  distinguished,  however,  for  the  clear  and  forcible 
way  in  which  he  put  the  arguments  which  would  most 
naturally  suggest  themselves  to  a  reflecting  mind,  than 
for  any  striking  or  comprehensive  views  of  the  sub 
ject.' 

'  Of  Lord  Palmerston,  Foreign  Secretary,  and 
member  for  Tiverton,  I  have  but  little  to  say.  The 
situation  he  fills  in  the  Cabinet  gives  him  a  certain 
degree  of  prominence  in  the  eyes  of  the  country,  which 


IN  THE  HOUSE  145 

he  certainly  does  not  possess  in  Parliament.  His 
talents  are  by  no  means  of  a  high  order.  He  is  very 
irregular  in  his  attendance  on  his  Parliamentary  duties, 
and,  when  in  the  House,  is  by  no  means  active  in 
defence  either  of  his  principles  or  his  friends.  Scarcely 
anything  calls  him  up  except  a  regular  attack  on  him- 
self, or  on  the  way  in  which  the  department  of  the 
public  service  Avith  which  he  is  entrusted  is  ad- 
ministered. 

'  In  person.  Lord  Palmerston  is  tall  and  handsome. 
His  face  is  round,  and  is  of  a  darkish  hue.  His  hair 
is  black,  and  always  exhibits  proofs  of  the  skill  and 
attention  of  the  perruquier.  His  clothes  are  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion.  He  is  very  vain  of  his  personal 
appearance,  and  is  generally  supposed  to  devote  more  of 
his  time  in  sacrificing  to  the  Graces  than  is  consistent  with 
the  duties  of  a  person  who  has  so  much  to  do  with  the 
destinies  of  Europe.  Hence  it  is  that  the  "  Times " 
newspaper  has  fastened  on  him  the  sobriquet  of  Cupid.' 

'  Mr.  O'Connell  is  a  man  of  the  highest  order  of 
genius.  There  is  not  a  member  in  the  House  who,  in 
this  respect,  can  for  a  moment  be  put  in  comparison 
with  him.  You  see  the  greatness  of  his  genius  in 
almost  every  sentence  he  utters.  There  are  others — 
Sir  Eobert  Peel,  for  example — who  have  much  more  tact 
and  greater  dexterity  in  debate  ;  but  in  point  of  genius 
none  approach  to  him.  It  ever  and  anon  bursts  forth 
with  a  brilliancy  and  effect  which  are  quite  over- 
whelming. You  have  not  well  recovered  from  the 
14 


146 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


overpowering  surprise  and  admiration  caused  by  one 
of  his  brilliant  effusions,  when  another  flashes  upon 
you  and  produces  tlie  same  effect.  You  have  no  time, 
nor  are  you  in  a  condition,  to  weigh  the  force  of  his 
arguments  ;  you  are  taken  captive  wherever  the 
speaker  chooses  to  lead  you  from  beginning  to  end.' 


DANIEL    O  CONNELL 


'  One  of  the  most  extraordinary  attributes  in  Mr. 
O'Connell's  oratory  is  the  ease  and  facility  with  which 
he  can  make  a  transition  from  one  topic  to  another. 
"  From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe,"  never  costs 
him  an  effort.  He  seems,  indeed,  to  be  himself  insen- 
sible of  the  transition.  I  have  seen  him  begin  his  speech 
by  alluding  to  topics  of  an  affecting  nature,  in  such   a 


IN  THE  HOUSE 


147 


manner  as  to  excite  the  deepest  sympathy  towards  the 
sufferers  in  the  mind  of  the  most  unfeehng  person 
present.  I  have  seen,  in  other  words — I  speak  with 
regard  to  particular  instances — the  tear  hterally  ghs- 
tening  in  the  eyes  of  men  altogether  unused  to   the 


~  tj^ii  z  .fi%jj' 


O'CONNELL   TAKING   THE   OATHS  IN   THE   HOUSE 
(Prom  a  Drawing  by  '  Phiz  '  in  'Sketches  in  London') 

melting  mood,  and  in  a  moment  afterwards,  by  a  transi- 
tion from  the  grave  to  the  humorous,  I  have  seen  the 
whole  audience  convulsed  with  laughter.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  have  often  heard  him  commence  his 
speech  in  a  strain  of  most  exquisite  humour,  and,  by  a 
sudden  transition  to  deep  pathos,  produce  the  stillness 


148  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

of  death  in  a  place  in  which,  but  one  moment  before, 
the  air  was  rent  with  shouts  of  laughter.  BQs  mastery 
over  the  passions  is  the  most  perfect  I  ever  witnessed, 
and  his  oratory  tells  with  the  same  effect  whether  he 
addresses  the  "first  assembly  of  gentlemen  in  the  world," 
or  the  ragged  and  ignorant  rabble  of  Dublin.' 

*  The  most  distinguished  literary  man  in  the  House 
is  Mr.  E.  L.  Bulwer,  member  for  Lincoln,  and  author  of 
"  Pelham,"  "  Eugene  Aram,"  &c.  He  does  not  speak 
often.  When  he  does,  his  speeches  are  not  only  pre- 
viously turned  over  with  great  care  in  his  mind,  but  are 
written  out  at  full  length,  and  committed  carefully  to 
memory.  He  is  a  great  patron  of  the  tailor,  and  he  is 
always  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion.  His  manner 
of  speaking  is  very  affected :  the  management  of  his 
voice  is  especially  so.  But  for  this  he  would  be  a 
pleasant  speaker.  His  voice,  though  weak,  is  agreeable, 
and  he  speaks  with  considerable  fluency.  His  speeches 
are  usually  argumentative.  You  see  at  once  that  he  is 
a  person  of  great  intellectual  acquirements.' 

'  Mr.  D'IsraeU,  the  member  for  Maidstone,  is  per- 
haps the  best  known  among  the  new  members  who  have 
made  their  debuts.  As  stated  in  my  "  Sketches  in 
London,"  his  own  private  friends  looked  forward  to  his 
introduction  into  the  House  of  Commons  as  a  circum- 
stance which  would  be  immediately  followed  by  his 
obtaining  for  himself  an  oratorical  reputation  equal  to 
that  enjoyed  by  the  most  popular  speakers  in  that 
assembly.     They  thought  he  would  produce  an  extra- 


__^^^^0^-6Zc-^^^V 


IN  THE  HOUSE  149 

ordinary  sensation,  both  in  the  House  and  in  the  country, 
by  the  power  and  splendour  of  his  eloquence.  But  the 
result  differed  from  the  anticipation. 

'  When  he  rose,  which  he  did  immediately  after  Mr. 
O'Connell  had  concluded  his  speech,  all  eyes  were 
fixed  on  hhn,  and  all  ears  were  open  to  Hsten  to  his 
eloquence ;  but  before  he  had  proceeded  far,  he 
furnished  a  striking  illustration  of  the  hazard  that 
attends  on  highly  wrought  expectations.  After  the 
first  few  minutes  he  met  with  every  possible  manifesta- 
tion of  opposition  and  ridicule  from  the  Ministerial 
benches,  and  was,  on  the  other  hand,  cheered  in  the 
loudest  and  most  earnest  manner  by  his  Tory  friends ; 
and  it  is  particularly  deserving  of  mention,  that  even 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  who  very  rarely  cheers  any  honourable 
gentleman,  not  even  the  most  able  and  accomplished 
speakers  of  his  own  party,  greeted  Mr.  DTsraeli's  speech 
with  a  prodigaUty  of  applause  which  must  have  been 
severely  trying  to  the  worthy  baronet's  lungs. 

'  At  one  time,  in  consequence  of  the  extraordinary 
interruptions  he  met  with,  Mr.  D'lsraeH  intimated  his 
willingness  to  resume  his  seat,  if  the  House  wished  him 
to  do  so.  He  proceeded,  however,  for  a  short  time 
longer,  but  was  still  assailed  by  groans  and  under-growls 
in  all  their  varieties ;  the  uproar,  indeed,  often  became 
so  great  as  completely  to  drown  his  voice. 

'  At  last,  losing  all  temper,  which  until  now  he  had 
preserved  in  a  wonderful  manner,  he  paused  in  the 
midst  of  a  sentence,  and,  looking  the  Liberals  indignantly 


ISO  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

in  the  face,  raised  liis  hands,  and,  opening  his  mouth  as 
wide  as  its  dimensions  would  permit,  said,  in  remark- 
ably loud  and  almost  terrific  tones — "Though  I  sit  down 
now,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  hear  me."  Mr. 
D'Israeli  then  sat  down  amidst  the  loudest  uproar. 

'  The  exhibition  altogether  was  a  most  extraordinary 
one.  Mr.  Disraeli's  appearance  and  manner  were  very 
singular.  His  dress  also  was  peculiar ;  it  had  much  of 
a  theatrical  aspect.  His  black  hair  was  long  and  flow- 
ing, and  he  had  a  most  ample  crop  of  it.  His  gesture 
was  abundant ;  he  often  appeared  as  if  trying  with 
what  celerity  he  could  move  his  body  from  one  side  to 
another,  and  throw  his  hands  out  and  draw  them  in 
again.  At  other  times  he  flourished  one  hand  before 
his  face,  and  then  the  other.  His  voice,  too,  is  of  a 
very  unusual  kind  :  it  is  powerful,  and  had  every  justice 
done  to  it  in  the  way  of  exercise  ;  but  there  is  some- 
thing peculiar  in  it  which  I  am  at  a  loss  to  characterise. 
His  utterance  was  rapid,  and  he  never  seemed  at  a  loss 
for  words.  On  the  whole,  and  notwithstanding  the 
result  of  his  first  attempt,  I  am  convinced  he  is  a  man 
who  possesses  many  of  the  requisites  of  a  good  debater. 
That  he  is  a  man  of  great  literary  talent,  few  will  dis- 
pute.' 

Lastly,  here  is  a  contemporary  judgment  on  Glad- 
stone.    The  itahcs  are  my  own. 

'  Mr.  Gladstone,  the  member  for  Newark,  is  one  of 
the  most  rising  young  men  on  the  Tory  side  of  the 
House.     His  party  expect  great  things  from  him  ;  and 


IN  THE  HOUSE  151 

certainly,  when  it  is  remembered  that  his  age  is  only 
twenty-five,  the  success  of  the  Parhamentary  efforts  he 
has  already  made  justifies  their  expectations.  He  is 
well  informed  on  most  of  the  subjects  which  usually  oc 
cupy  the  attention  of  the  Legislature,  and  he  is  happy 
in  turning  his  information  to  a  good  account.  He  is 
ready,  on  all  occasions  which  he  deems  fitting  ones, 
with  a  speech  in  favour  of  the  policy  advocated  by  the 
party  with  whom  he  acts.  His  extemporaneous  resources 
are  ample.  Few  men  in  the  House  can  improvisate 
better.  It  does  not  appear  to  cost  him  an  effort  to 
speak.  He  is  a  man  of  very  considerable  talent,  but 
has  nothing  approaching  to  genius.  His  abilities  are 
much  more  the  result  of  an  excellent  education,  and  of 
mature  study,  than  of  any  prodigahty  on  the  part  of 
Nature  in  the  distribution  of  mental  gifts.  /  have  no 
idea  that  he  will  ever  acquire  the  reputation  of  a  great 
statesman.  His  views  are  not  sufficiently  profound  or 
enlarged  for  that ;  his  celebrity  in  the  House  of  Com 
mons  will  chiefly  depend  on  his  readiness  and  dexterity  as 
a  debater,  in  conjunction  with  the  excellence  of  his  elocu- 
tion, and  the  gracefulness  of  his  manner  when  speaking. 
His  style  is  polished,  but  has  no  appearance  of  the 
effect  of  previous  preparation.  He  displays  considerable 
acuteness  in  replying  to  an  opponent ;  he  is  quick  in 
his  perception  of  anything  vulnerable  in  the  speech  to 
which  he  replies,  and  happy  in  laying  the  weak  point 
bare  to  the  gaze  of  the  House.  He  now  and  then  in- 
dulges in  sarcasm,  which  is,  in  most  cases,  very  felici- 


152  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

tous.  Be  is  plausible  even  when  most  in  error.  When 
it  suits  himself  or  his  party,  he  can  apply  himself  with 
the  strictest  closeness  to  the  real  point  at  issue;  when 
to  evade  that  point  is  deemed  most  politic,  no  man  can 
wander  from  it  more  widely. 

'  The  ablest  speech  lie  ever  made  in  the  House,  and  by 
far  the  ablest  on  the  same  side  of  the  question,  was 
when  opposing,  on  the  30th  of  March  last,  Sir  George 
Strickland's  motion  for  the  abolition  of  the  negro  appren- 
tictship  system  on  the  1st  of  August  next.  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, I  should  here  observe,  is  himself  an  extensive 
West  India  planter. 

'  Mr.  Gladstone's  appearance  and  manners  are  much 
in  his  favour.  He  is  a  fine-looking  man.  He  is  about 
the  usual  height,  and  of  good  figure.  His  countenance 
is  mild  and  pleasant,  and  has  a  highly  intellectual  ex 
pression.  His  eyes  are  clear  and  quick.  His  eyebrows 
are  dark  and  rather  prominent.  There  is  not  a  dandy 
in  the  House  but  envies  what  Truefitt  would  call  his 
'  fine  head  of  jet-black  hair.'  It  is  always  carefully 
parted  from  the  crown  downwards  to  his  brow,  where 
it  is  tastefully  shaded.  His  features  are  small  and 
regular,  and  his  complexion  must  be  a  very  unworthy 
witness,  if  he  does  not  possess  an  abundant  stock  of 

health.' 

So  the  ghost  of  the  first  Victorian  Parliament 
vanishes.  All  are  gone  except  Mr.  Gladstone  himself. 
Wliether  the  contemporary  judgment  has  proved  well 
founded  or  not,  is  for  the  reader  to  determine.     For  my 


IN  THE  HOUSE  153 

own  part,  I  confess  that  my  opinion  of  the  author  of 
*  Eandom  Eecollections '  was  greatly  advanced  when  I 
had  read  this  judgment  on  the  members.  We  Avho  do 
not  sit  in  the  galleries,  and  are  not  members,  lose  the 
enormous  advantage  of  actually  seeing  the  speakers  and 
hearing  the  debates.  The  reported  speech  is  not  the 
real  speech  ;  the  written  letter  remains  ;  but  the  fire  of 
the  orator  flames  and  burns,  and  passes  away.  Those 
know  not '  Gladstone  who  have  never  seen  him  and 
heard  him  speak. 

And  as  for  that  old  man  eloquent,  when  he  closes 
his  eyes  in  the  House  where  he  has  fought  so  long,  the 
voices  around  him  may  well  fall  unheeded  on  his  ear, 
while  a  vision  of  the  past  shows  him  once  more  Peel 
and  Stanley,  Lord  John  and  Palmerston,  O'Connell  and 
Eoebuck,  and,  adversary  worthiest  of  all,  the  man 
whom  the  House  at  his  first  attempt  hooted  down  and 
refused  to  hear — the  great  and  illustrious  Dizzy. 


1S4  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTER  X. 

AT   SCHOOL   AND   UNIVERSITY. 

The  great  schools  had  no  new  rivals ;  all  the  modern 
public  schools — Cheltenham,  Clifton,  Marlborough,  and 
the  like — have  sprung  into  existence  or  into  importance 
since  the  year  1837.  Those  who  did  not  go  to  the 
public  schools  had  their  choice  between  small  gram- 
mar schools  and  private  schools.  There  were  a  vast 
number  of  private  schools.  It  was,  indeed,  recognised 
that  when  a  man  could  do  nothing  else  and  had  failed 
in  everything  that  he  had  tried,  a  private  school  was 
still  possible  for  him.  The  sons  of  the  lower  middle- 
class  had,  as  a  rule,  no  choice  but  to  go  to  a  private 
school.  At  the  grammar  school  they  taught  Greek  and 
Latin — these  boys  wanted  no  Greek  and  no  Latin ; 
they  wanted  a  good  '  commercial '  education  ;  they 
wanted  to  learn  bookkeeping  and  arithmetic,  and  to 
write  a  good  hand.  Nothing  else  was  of  much  account. 
Again,  all  the  grammar  schools  belonged  to  the  Church 
of  England ;  sons  of  Nonconformists  were,  therefore, 
excluded,  and  had  to  go  to  the  private  school. 

The  man  who  kept  a  private  school    was  recom- 


AT  SCHOOL  AND    UNIVERSIT'Y  155 

mended  for  his  cheapness  as  much  as  for  his  success  in 
teaching.  As  for  the  latter,  indeed,  there  were  no  local 
examinations  held  by  the  Universities,  and  no  means  of 
showing  whether  he  taught  well  or  ill.  Probably,  in 
the  five  or  six  years  spent  at  his  school,  boys  learned 
what  their  parents  mostly  desired  for  them,  and  left 
school  to  become  clerks  or  shopmen.  The  school  fees 
were  sometimes  as  low  as  a  guinea  a  quarter.  The 
classes  were  taught  by  wretchedly  paid  ushers ;  there 
was  no  attention  paid  to  ventilation  or  hygienic 
arrangements ;  the  cane  was  freely  used  all  day  long. 
Everybody  knows  the  kind  of  school ;  you  can  read 
about  it  in  the  earher  pages  of '  David  Copperfield,'  and 
in  a  thousand  books  besides. 

In  the  pubHc  schools,  where  the  birch  flourished 
rank  and  tall  and  in  tropical  luxuriance,  Latin  and 
Greek  were  the  only  subjects  to  which  any  serious 
attention  was  given.  No  science  was  taught ;  of 
modern  languages,  French  was  pretended ;  history  and 
geography  were  neglected  ;  mathematics  were  a  mere 
farce.  As  regards  the  tone  of  the  schools,  perhaps  we 
had  better  not  inquire  Yet  that  the  general  life  of 
the  boys  was  healthy  is  apparent  from  the  affection 
with  which  elderly  men  speak  of  their  old  schools. 
There  were  great  Head  Masters  before  Arnold  ;  and 
there  were  pubhc  schools  where  manliness,  truth,  and 
purity  were  cultivated  besides  Rugby.  One  thing  is  very 
certain — that  the  schools  turned  out  splendid  scholars, 
and   their  powers  of  writing  Latin   and  Greek  verse 


156  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

were  wonderful.  A  year  ago  we  were  startled  by 
learning  that  a  girl  had  taken  a  First  Class  in  the 
Classical  Tripos  at  Cambridge.  This,  to  some  who 
remembered  the  First  Class  of  old,  seemed  a  truly 
wonderful  thing.  Some  even  wanted  to  see  her 
iambics.  Alas !  a  First  Class  can  now  be  got  without 
Greek  iambics.  What  would  they  have  said  at  West- 
minster fifty  years  ago  if  they  had  learned  that  a  First 
Class  could  be  got  at  Cambridge  without  Greek  or 
Latin  verse  .^  What  is  philology,  which  can  be 
crammed,  compared  with  a  faultless  copy  of  elegiacs, 
which  no  amount  of  cramming,  even  of  the  female 
brain,  can  succeed  in  producing  ? 

The  Universities  were  still  wholly  in  the  hands  of  the 
Church.  No  layman,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  could 
be  Head  of  a  College ;  all  the  Fellowships — or  very 
nearly  all — were  clerical ;  the  country  living  was  the 
natural  end  of  the  Fellowship ;  no  Dissenters,  Jews,  or 
Catholics  were  admitted  into  any  College  unless  they 
went  through  the  form  of  conforming  to  the  rules  as 
regards  Chapel ;  no  one  could  be  matriculated  without 
signing  the  Thirty-nine  Articles — nearly  twenty  years 
later  I  had,  as  a  lad  of  seventeen,  to  sign  that  unrelenting 
definition  of  Faith  on  entering  King's  College,  London. 
Perhaps  they  do  it  still  at  that  seat  of  orthodoxy. 
Tutors  and  lecturers  were  nearly  all  in  orders.  Most 
of  the  men  intended  to  take  orders,  many  of  them  in 
order  to  take  family  livings. 

The  number  of  undergraduates  was  about  a  third 


AT  SCHOOL  AND    UNIVERSITY  157 

of  that  now  standing  on  the  College  books.  And  the 
number  of  reading  men — those  who  intended  to  make 
their  University  career  a  stepping-stone  or  a  ladder — 
was  far  less  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  '  poll '  men 
than  at  the  present  day.  The  ordinary  degree  was 
obtained  with  even  less  difficulty  than  at  present. 

There  were  practically  only  two  Triposes  at 
Cambridge — the  Mathematical  and  the  Classical — in- 
stead of  the  round  dozen  or  so  which  now  offer  their 
honours  to  the  student.  No  one  could  get  a  Fellow- 
ship except  through  those  two  Triposes.  As  for  the 
Fellowships  and  Scholarships,  indeed,  half  of  them  were 
close — that  is  to  say,  confined  to  students  from  certain 
towns,  or  certain  counties,  or  certain  schools  ;  while  at 
one  College,  King's,  both  Fellowships  and  Scholarships 
were  confined  to  '  collegers  '  of  Eton,  and  the  students 
proceeded  straight  to  Fellowships  without  passing 
through  the  ordeal  of  the  Senate  House. 

Dinner  was  at  four — a  most  ungodly  hour,  be- 
tween lunch  and  the  proper  hour  for  dinner.  For  the 
men  who  read,  it  answered  pretty  well,  because  it  gave 
them  a  long  evening  for  work  ;  for  the  men  who  did 
not  read,  it  gave  a  long  evening  for  play. 

There  M^as  a  great  deal  of  solid  drinking  among  the 

men,  both  Fellows  and  undergraduates.     The  former  sat 

in  Combination  Eoom  after  Hall  and  drank  the  good  old 

College  port ;  the  latter  sat  in  each  other's  rooms  and 

drank  the  fiery  port  which  they  bought  in  the  town. 

In  the  evening  there  were  frequent  suppers,  with  milk- 
15 


158  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

punch  and  songs.  I  wonder  if  they  have  the  milk- 
punch  still ;  the  supper  I  think  they  cannot  have,  be- 
cause they  all  dine  at  seven  or  half-past  seven,  after 
which  it  is  impossible  to  take  supper. 

In  those  days  young  noblemen  went  up  more  than 
they  do  at  present,  and  they  spread  themselves  over 
many  colleges.  Thus  at  Cambridge  they  were  found 
at  Trinity,  John's,  and  Magdalene.  A  certain  Cabinet 
thirty  years  ago  had  half  its  members  on  the  books  of 
St.  John's.  In  these  days  all  the  noblemen  who  go 
to  Cambridge  flock  like  sheep  to  Trinity.  There  seems 
also  to  have  been  gathered  at  the  University  a  larger 
proportion  of  county  people  than  in  these  later  years, 
when  the  Universities  have  not  only  been  thrown  open 
to  men  of  all  creeds,  but  when  men  of  every  class  find 
in  their  rich  endowments  and  prizes  a  legitimate  and 
laudable  way  of  rising  in  the  world.  '  The  recognised 
way  of  making  a  gentleman  now,'  says  Charles  Kingsley 
in  '  Alton  Locke,'  '  is  to  send  him  to  the  University  '  I 
do  not  know  how  Charles  Kingsley  was  made  a  gentle- 
man, but  it  is  certainly  a  very  common  method  of 
advancing  your  son  if  he  is  clever.  Formerly  it  meant 
ambition  in  the  direction  of  the  Church.  Now  it  means 
many   other   things — the  Bar — Journahsm — Education 

Science — Archasology — a  hundred  ways  in  which  a 

'  gentleman  '  may  be  made  by  first  becoming  a  scholar. 
Nay,  there  are  dozens  of  men  in  the  City  who  have 
begun  by  taking  their  three  years  on  the  banks  of  the 
Cam  or  the  Isis.     For  what  purposes  do  the  Univer- 


AT  SCHOOL  AND    UNIVERSITY  159 

sities  exist  but  for  the  encouragement  of  learning  ? 
And  if  the  country  agree  to  call  a  scholar  a  gentleman 
— as  it  calls  a  solicitor  a  gentleman — by  right  of  his 
profession,  so  much  the  better  for  the  country.  But 
Kingsley  was  born  somewhere  about  the  year  1820, 
which  was  still  very  much  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
when  there  wei'e  no  gentlemen  recognised  except  those 
who  were  gentlemen  by  birth. 

With  close  Fellowships,  tied  to  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, with  little  or  no  science,  Art,  archo3ology, 
philology.  Oriental  learning,  or  any  of  the  modern 
branches  of  learning,  with  a  strong  taste  for  port,  and 
undergraduates  drawn  for  the  most  part  from  the 
upper  classes,  the  Universities  were  different  indeed 
from  those  of  the  present  day. 

As  for  the  education  of  women,  it  was  like  unto  the 
serpents  of  Ireland.  Wherefore  we  need  not  devote  a 
chapter  to  this  subject  at  all. 


ibo  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

THE   TAVERN. 

The  substitution  of  the  Restaurant  for  the  Tavern  is  of 
recent  origin.  In  the  year  1 837  there  were  restaurants, 
it  is  true,  but  they  were  humble  places,  and  confined 
to  the  parts  of  London  frequented  by  the  French  ;  for 
English  of  every  degree  there  was  the  Tavern.  Plenty 
of  the  old  Taverns  still  survive  to  show  ns  in  what  places 
our  fathers  took  their  dinners  and  drank  their  punch. 
The  Cheshire  Cheese  is  a  survival ;  the  Cock,  until 
recently,  was  another.  Some  of  them,  like  the  latter, 
had  the  tables  and  benches  partitioned  ofl';  otliers, 
like  the  former,  were  partly  open  and  partly  divided. 
The  floor  Avas  sanded  ;  there  was  a  great  fire  kept  up  all 
through  the  winter,  with  a  kettle  always  fidl  of  boiling 
water ;  the  cloth  was  not  always  of  the  cleanest ;  the  forks 
were  steel ;  in  the  evening  there  was  always  a  company 
of  those  who  supped — for  they  dined  early — on  chops, 
steaks,  sausages,  oysters,  and  Welsh  rabbit,  of  those  who 
drank,  those  who  smoked  their  long  pipes,  and  those  who 
sang.  Yes — those  who  sang.  In  those  days  the  song 
went  round.     If  three  or  four  Templars  supped  at  the 


THE   TAVERN 


i6i 


Coal  Hole,  or  the  Cock,  or  the  Eainbow,  one  of  them 
would  presently  lift  his  voice  in  song,  and  then  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  rival  warbler  from  another  box.  At  the  Coal 
Hole,  indeed — where  met  the  once  famous  Wolf  Club, 


EDMUND    KEjVN    AS    RICHARD    THE    THIRD 


Edmund  Kean,  President — the  landlord,  one  Ehodes 
by  name,  was  not  only  a  singer  but  a  writer  of  songs, 
chiefly,  I  apprehend,  of  the  comic  kind.  I  suppose  that 
the  comic  song  given  by  a  private  gentleman  in  character 
— that  is,  with  a  pocket-handkerchief  for  a  white  apron, 


i62  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

or  his  coat  off,  or  a  battered  hat  on  his  head — is  almost 
unknown  to  the  younger  generation.  They  see  the 
kind  of  thing,  but  done  much  better,  at  the  music-halls. 

Eeally,  nothing  marks  the  change  of  manners  more 
than  the  fact  that  fifty  years  ago  men  used  to  meet  to- 
gether every  evening  and  sing  songs  over  their  pipes 
and  grog.  Not  young  men  only,  but  middle-aged  men, 
and  old  men,  would  all  together  join  in  the  chorus,  and 
that  joyfully,  banging  the  tables  with  their  fists,  and 
laughing  from  ear  to  ear — the  roysterers  are  always 
represented  as  laughing  with  an  absence  of  restraint 
impossible  for  us  quite  to  understand.  The  choruses, 
too,  were  of  the  good  old  '  Whack-fol-de-rol-de-rido' 
character,  which  gives  scope  to  so  much  play  of  senti- 
ment and  liglitness  of  touch. 

Beer,  of  course,  was  the  principal  beverage,  and 
there  were  many  more  varieties  of  beer  than  at  present 
prevail.  One  reads  of  '  Brook  clear  Kennett ' — it  used 
to  be  sold  in  a  house  near  the  Oxford  Street  end  of 
Tottenham  Court  Eoad  ;  of  Shropshire  ale,  described  as 
'  dark  and  heavy  ; '  ol  the  '  luscious  Burton,  innocent  of 
hops  ; '  of  new  ale,  old  ale,  bitter  ale,  hard  ale,  soft  ale, 
the  'balmy'  Scotch,  mellow  October,  and  good  brown 
stout.  All  these  were  to  be  obtained  at  taverns  which 
made  a  specialite^  as  they  would  say  now,  of  any  one 
kind.  Thus  the  best  stout  in  London  was  to  be  had  at  the 
Brace  Tavern  in  the  Queen's  Bench  Prison,  and  the  Cock 
was  also  famous  for  the  same  beverage,  served  in  pint 
glasses.    A  rival  of  the  Cock,  in  this  respect,  was  the  Eain- 


THE    TAVERN 


i6' 


bow,  long  before  the  present  handsome  room  was  built. 
The  landlord  of  the  Eainbow  was  one  WilUam  Colls, 
formerly  head-waiter  at  the  Cock,  predecessor,  I  take 
it,  of  Tennyson's  immortal  friend-  But  he  left  the 
Cock  to  better  himself,  and  as  at  the  same  time  Mary — 
the  incomparable,  the  matchless  Mary,  most  beautiful 
of  barmaids — left  it  as 
well,  gloom  fell  upon 
the  frequenters  of  the 
tavern.  Mary  left  the 
Cock  about  the  year 
1820,  too  early  for  the 
future  Poet  Laureate 
to  have  been  one  of 
the  worshippers  of  her 
Grecian  face.  Under 
Colls's  management  the 
Rainbow  rivalled  the 
Cock  in  popularity. 
The  Cider  Cellar,  kept 
by  Evans  of  Covent  Gar- 
den, had  gone  through  a 
period  of  decline,  but 
was  again  popular  and  well  frequented.  Mention  may 
also  be  made  of  Clitter's,  of  Offley's,  famous  for  its  lamb  in 
spring ;  of  the  Kean's  Head,  whose  landlord  was  a  great 
comic  singer  ;  of  the  Harp,  haunt  of  aspiring  actors  ;  of 
the  Albion,  the  Finish,  or  the  Royal  Saloon,  Piccadilly, 
where  one  looked  in  for  a  '  few  goes  of  max ' — wdiat  was 


OLD  ENTRANCE  TO  THE  COCK,  FLEET  STREET 


i64  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

max  ? — in  the  very  worst  company  that  London  could 
supply. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  lament  the  quantity  of  money  still 
consumed  in  drink.  But  our  drink-bill  is  nothing,  in  pro- 
portion, compared  with  that  of  fifty  years  ago.  Thus,  the 
number  of  visitors  to  fourteen  great  gin  shops  in  London 
was  found  to  average  3,000  each  per  diem  ;  in  Edin- 
burgh there  was  a  gin-shop  for  every  fifteen  famiUes ; 
in  one  Irish  town  of  800  people  there  were  eighty-eight 
gin-shops ;  in  Sheffield,  thirteen  persons  were  killed  in 
ten  days  by  drunkenness  ;  in  London  there  was  one 
public-house  to  every  fifty-six  houses ;  in  Glasgow  one 
to  every  ten.  Yet  it  was  noted  at  the  time  that  a  great 
improvement  could  be  observed  in  the  drinking  habits 
of  the  people.  In  the  year  1742,  for  instance,  there 
were  19,000,000  gallons  of  spirits  consumed  by  a  popu- 
lation of  6,000,000 — that  is  to  say,  more  than  three 
gallons  a  head  every  year  ;  or,  if  we  take  only  the  adult 
men,  something  like  twelve  gallons  for  every  man  in  the 
year,  which  may  be  calculated  to  mean  one  bottle  in  five 
da3^s.  But  a  hundred  years  later  the  population  had 
increased  to  1 6,000,000,  and  the  consumption  of  spirits 
had  fallen  to  8,250,000  gallons,  which  represents  a  httle 
more  than  half  a  gallon,  or  four  pints,  a  head  in  the 
year.  Or,  taking  the  adult  men  only,  their  average  was 
two  gallons  and  one  sixteenth  a  head,  so  that  each  man's 
pint  bottle  would  have  lasted  him  for  three  weeks.  In 
Scotland,  however,  the  general  average  was  twenty- 
seven  pints  a  head,  and,  taking  adults  alone,  thirteen 


THE   TAVERN  165 

gallons  and  a  half  a  head  ;  and  in  Ireland  six  and  a  half 
gallons  a  head.  It  was  noted,  also,  in  the  year  1837, 
that  the  multiphcation  of  coffee-houses,  of  which  there 
were  1,600  in  London  alone,  proved  the  growth  of 
more  healthy  habits  among  the  people. 

But  though  there  was  certainly  more  moderation  in 
drink  than  in  the  earlier  years  of  the  century,  the  drink- 
bill  for  the  year  1837  was  prodigious.  A  case  of  total 
abstinence  was  a  phenomenon.  The  thirst  for  beer  was 
insatiable  ;  with  many  people,  especially  farmers,  and 
the  working  classes  generally,  beer  was  taken  with  break- 
fast. Even  in  my  own  time — that  is  to  say,  when  the 
Queen  had  been  reigning  for  one-and- twenty  years  or  so — 
there  were  still  many  undergraduates  at  Cambridge  who 
drank  beer  habitually  for  breakfast,  and  at  every  break- 
fast-party the  tankard  was  passed  round  as  a  finish.  In 
country  houses,  the  simple,  hght,  home-brewed  ale,  the 
preparation  of  which  caused  a  most  dehghtful  anxiety 
as  to  the  result,  was  the  sole  beverage  used  at  dinner 
and  supper.  Every  farmhouse,  every  large  country 
house,  and  many  town  house  keepers  brewed  their  own 
beer,  just  as  they  made  their  own  wines,  their  own  jams, 
and  their  own  lavender  water.  Beer  was  universally 
taken  with  dinner;  even  at  great  dinner-parties  some 
of  the  guests  w^ould  call  for  beer,  and  strong  ale  was 
always  served  with  the  cheese.  After  dinner,  only  port 
and  sherry,  in  middle-class  houses,  were  put  upon  the 
table.  Sometimes  Madeira  or  Lisbon  appeared,  but,  as 
a  rule,  wine  meant  port  or  sherry,  unless,  which  some- 


i66  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

times  happened,  it  meant  cowslip,  ginger,  or  gooseberry. 
Except  among  the  upper  class,  claret  was  absolutely  un- 
known, as  were  Burgundy,  Eh<me  wines,  Sauterne,  and 
ail  other  French  wines.  In  the  restaurants  every  man 
would  call  for  bitter  ale,  or  stout,  or  half-and-half  with 
his  dinner,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  after  dinner  would 
either  take  his  pint  of  port,  or  half-pint  of  sherry,  or 
his  tumbler  of  grog.  Champngne  was  regarded  as  the 
drink  of  the  prodigal  son.  In  the  family  circle  it  never 
appeared  at  all,  except  at  weddings,  and  perhaps  on 
Christmas  Day. 

In  fact,  when  people  spoke  of  wine  in  these  days,  they 
generally  meant  port.  They  bought  port  by  the  hogs- 
head, had  it  bottled,  and  laid  down.  They  talked 
about  their  cellars  solemnly  ;  they  brought  forth  bottles 
which  had  been  laid  down  in  the  days  when  George  the 
Third  was  king  ;  they  were  great  on  body,  bouquet,  and 
beeswing ;  they  told  stories  about  wonderful  port  which 
they  had  been  privileged  to  drink;  they  looked  forward 
to  a  dinner  chieily  on  account  of  the  port  which  followed 
it ;  real  enjoyment  only  began  when  the  cloth  was  re- 
moved, the  ladies  were  gone,  and  the  solemn  passage 
of  the  decanter  had  commenced. 

There  Ungers  still  the  old  love  for  this  wine — it  is, 
without  doubt,  the  king  of  wines.  I  remember  ten 
years  ago,  or  thereabouts,  dining  with  one — then  my 
partner — now,  alas!  gathered  to  his  fathers — at  the 
Blue  Posts,  before  that  old  inn  was  burned  down.  The 
room  was  a  comfortable  old-fashioned  first  floor,  low  of 


THE   TAVERN  167 

ceiling ;  with  a  great  fire  in  an  old-fashioned  grate  ;  set 
with  four  or  five  tables  only,  because  not  many  fre- 
quented this  most  desirable  of  dining-places.  We  took 
with  dinner  a  bottle  of  light  claret  ;  when  we  had 
got  through  the  claret  and  the  beef,  the  waiter,  who 
had  been  hovering  about  uneasily,  interposed.  '  Don't 
drink  any  more  of  that  wash,'  he  said  ;  'let  me  bring 
you  something  fit  for  gentlemen  to  sit  over.'  He 
brought  us,  of  course,  a  bottle  of  port.  They  say  that 
the  taste  for  port  is  reviving  ;  but  claret  has  got  so  firm 
a  hold  of  our  affections  that  I  doubt  it. 

As  for  the  drinking  of  spirits,  it  was  certainly  much 
more  common  then  than  it  is  now.  Amon^x  the  lower 
classes  gin  was  the  favourite — the  drink  of  the  women  as 
much  as  of  the  men.  Do  you  know  why  they  call  it '  blue 
ruin  '  ?  Some  time  ago  I  saw,  going  into  a  public-house, 
somewhere  near  the  West  India  Docks,  a  tall  lean  man, 
apparently  five-and-forty  or  thereabouts.  He  was  in 
rags  ;  his  knees  bent  as  he  walked,  his  hands  trembled, 
his  eyes  were  eager.  And,  wonderful  to  relate,  the  face 
was  perfectly  blue — not  indigo  blue,  or  azure  blue,  but 
of  a  ghostly,  ghastly,  corpse-hke  kind  of  blue,  which 
made  one  shudder.  Said  my  companion  to  me,  '  That  is 
gin.'  We  opened  the  door  of  the  pubhc-house  and  looked 
in.  He  stood  at  the  bar  with  a  full  glass  in  his  hand. 
Then  his  eyes  brightened,  he  gasped,  straightened  him- 
self, and  tossed  it  down  his  throat.  Then  he  came  out, 
and  he  sighed  as  one  who  has  just  had  a  glimpse  of  some 
earthly  Paradise.     Then  he  walked  away  with  swift  and 


1 68  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

resolute  step,  as  if  purposed  to  achieve  something 
mighty.  Only  a  few  yards  farther  along  the  road,  but 
across  the  way,  there  stood  another  public-house.  The 
man  walked  straight  to  the  door,  entered,  and  took 
another  glass,  again  with  the  quick  grasp  of  anticipa- 
tion, and  again  with  that  sigh,  as  of  a  hurried  peep 
through  the  gates  barred  with  the  sword  of  fire.  This 
man  was  a  curious  object  of  study.  He  went  into  twelve 
more  public-houses,  each  time  with  greater  deter- 
mination on  his  lips  and  greater  eagerness  in  his  eyes. 
The  last  glass,  I  suppose,  opened  these  gates  for  him  and 
suffered  him  to  enter,  for  his  lips  suddenly  lost  their 
resolution,  his  eyes  lost  their  lustre,  he  became  limp, 
his  arms  fell  heavily — lie  was  drunk,  and  his  face  was 
bluer  than  ever. 

This  was  the  kind  of  sight  which  Hogarth  could 
see  every  day  when  he  painted  '  Gin  Lane.'  It  was  in 
the  time  when  drinking-shops  had  placards  stuck  outside 
to  the  effect  that  for  a  penny  one  might  get  drunk, 
and  blind  drunk  for  twopence.  But  an  example  of  a 
'  blue  ruin,'  actually  walking  in  the  flesh,  in  these  days 
one  certainly  does  not  expect  to  see.  Next  to  gin, 
rum  was  the  most  popular.  There  is  a  full  rich  flavour 
about  rum.  It  is  afiectionately  named  after  the  delicious 
pineapple,  or  after  the  island  where  its  production  is  the 
most  abundant  and  the  most  kindly.  It  has  always  been 
the  drink  of  Her  Majesty's  Navy;  it  is  still  the  favourite 
beverage  of  many  West  India  Islands,  and  many  millions 
of  sailors,  niggers,  and  coolies.     It  is  hallowed  by  histo- 


THE   TAVERN  i6g 

rical  associations.  But  its  effects  in  the  good  old  days 
were  wonderful  and  awe-inspiring.  It  was  the  author 
and  creator  of  those  flowers,  now  almost  extinct,  called 
grog-blossoms.  You  may  see  them  depicted  by  the  ca- 
ricaturists of  the  Rowlandson  time,  but  they  survived 
until  well  past  the  middle  of  the  century. 

The  outward  and  visible  signs  of  rum  were  indeed 
various.  First,  there  was  the  red  and  swollen  nose ;  next, 
the  nose  beautifully  painted  with  grog-blossoms.  It  is  an 
ancient  nose,  and  is  celebrated  by  the  bacchanahan  poet 
of  Normandy,  Ohvier  Basselin,  in  the  fifteenth  century. 
There  was,  next,  the  bottle  nose  in  all  its  branches.  I 
am  uncertain,  never  having  walked  the  hospitals,  whether 
one  is  justified  in  classifying  certain  varieties  of  the 
bottle  nose  under  one  head,  or  whether  each  variety 
was  a  species  by  itself.  All  these  noses,  with  the  red  and 
puffy  cheeks,  the  thick  hps,  the  double  chins,  the  swell- 
ing, aldermanic  corporation,  and  the  gouty  feet,  in  list 
and  slippers,  meant  Eum — Great  God  Eum.  These 
symptoms  are  no  longer  to  be  seen.  Therefore,  Great 
God  Eum  is  either  deposed,  or  he  hath  but  few  wor- 
shippers, and  those  half-hearted. 

The  decay  of  the  Great  God  Eum,  and  the  Great 
Goddess  Gin  his  consort,  is  marked  in  many  other  ways. 
Formerly,  the  toper  half  filled  a  thick,  short  rummer  with 
spirit,  and  poured  upon  it  an  equal  quantity  of  water. 
Mr.  Weller's  theory  of  drink  was  that  it  should  be 
equal.  The  modern  toper  goes  to  a  bar,  gets  half  a 
wineglass  of  Scotch  whisky,  and  pours  upon  it  a  pint 


l^6  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

of  Apollinaris  water.  The  ancient  drank  his  grog  hot, 
with  lemon  and  sugar,  and  sometimes  spice.  This 
made  a  serious  business  of  the  nightly  grog.  The 
modern  takes  his  cold,  even  with  ice,  and  without  any 
addition  of  lemon.  Indeed,  he  squashes  his  lemon 
separately,  and  drinks  the  juice  in  Apollinaris,  without 
any  spirit  at  all — a  thing  abhorrent  to  his  ancestor. 

Again,  there  are  preparations  of  a  crafty  and  cryptic 
character,  once  greatly  in  favour,  and  now  clean  for- 
gotten, or  else  fallen  into  a  pitiable  contempt,  and 
doomed  to  a  stumbling,  halt,  and  broken-winged  exist- 
ence. Take,  for  instance,  the  punch-bowl.  Fifty 
years  ago  it  was  no  mere  ornament  for  the  sideboard 
and  the  china  cabinet.  It  was  a  thincj  to  be  brought 
forth  and  filled  with  a  fragrant  mixture  of  rum,  brandy, 
and  cura9oa,  lemon,  hot  water,  sugar,  grated  nutmeg, 
cloves,  and  cinnamon.  The  preparation  of  the  bowl 
was  as  much  a  labour  of  love  as  that  of  a  claret  cup,  its 
degenerate  successor.  The  ladles  were  beautiful  works 
of  art  in  silver — where  are  those  ladles  now,  and  what 
purpose  do  they  serve  ?  Shrub,  again — rum  shrub — is 
there  any  living  man  who  now  calls  for  shrub  ?  You 
may  still  see  it  on  the  shelf  of  an  old-fashioned  inn  ;  you 
may  even  see  the  announcement  that  it  is  for  sale 
painted  on  door-posts,  but  no  man  regardeth  it.  I 
beheve  that  it  was  supposed  to  possess  valuable  medi- 
cinal properties,  the  nature  of  which  I  forget.  Again, 
there  was  purl — early  purl.  Once  there  was  a  club  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Covent  Garden,  which  existed  for 


THE   TAVERN  171 

the  purpose  of  arising  betimes,  and  drinking  purl  before 
breakfast.  Or  there  was  dog's-nose.  Gentle  reader, 
you  remember  the  rules  for  making  dog's-nose.  They 
were  explained  at  a  now  famous  meeting  of  the  Brick 
Lane  Branch  of  the  Grand  Junction  Ebenezer  Temper- 
ance Association.  Yet  I  doubt  whether  dog's-nose  is 
still  in  favour.  Again,  there  was  copus — is  the  making 
of  copus-cup  still  remembered?  There  was  bishop  :  it 
was  a  kind  of  punch,  made  of  port  wine  instead  of  rum, 
and  was  formerly  much  consumed  at  the  suppers  of  un- 
dergraduates ;  it  was  remarkable  for  its  power  of  mak- 
ing men's  faces  red  and  their  voices  thick  ;  it  also  made 
them  feel  as  if  their  legs  and  arms,  and  every  part  of 
them,  were  filled  out  and  distended,  as  with  twice  the 
usual  quantity  of  blood.  These  were,  no  doubt,  valuable 
qualities,  considered  medicinally,  yet  bishop  is  no  longer 
in  demand.  Mulled  ale  is  still,  perhaps,  cultivated. 
They  used  to  have  pots  made  for  the  purpose  of  warm- 
ing the  ale :  these  were  long  and  shaped  like  an  extin- 
guisher, so  that  the  heat  of  the  fire  played  upon  a  large 
surface,  and  warmed  the  beer  quickly.  When  it  was 
poured  out,  spice  was  added,  and  perhaps  sugar,  and  no 
doubt  a  dash  of  brandy.  Negus,  a  weak  compound  of 
sherry  and  warm  water,  used  to  be  exhibited  at  dancing 
parties,  but  is  now,  I  should  think,  unknown  save  by 
name.  I  do  not  speak  of  currant  gin,  damson  brandy, 
or  cherry  brandy,  because  one  or  two  such  preparations 
are  still  produced.  Nor  need  we  consider  British  wines, 
now  almost   extinct.     Yet  in  country  towns  one  may 


172  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

here  and  there  find  shops  where  they  provide  for  tastes 
still  simple — the  cowslip,  delicate  and  silky  to  the  palate ; 
the  ginger,  full  of  flavour  and  of  body  ;  the  red  currant, 
rich  and  sweet — a  ladies'  wine  ;  the  gooseberry,  possess- 
ing all  the  finer  qualities  of  the  grape  of  Epernay ;  the 
raisin,  with  fine  Tokay  flavour ;  or  the  raspberry,  full  of 
bouquet  and  of  beeswing.  But  their  day  is  passed — the 
British  wines  are,  practically,  made  no  more.  All  these 
drinks,  once  so  lovingly  prepared  and  so  tenderly  che- 
rished, are  now  as  much  forgotten  as  the  toast  in  the  nut- 
brown  ale,  or  the  October  humming  ale,  or  the  mead 
drunk  from  the  gold-rimmed  horn — they  still  drink 
something  out  of  a  gold-rimmed  horn  in  the  Hall  of 
Corpus  Christi,  Cambridge ;  or  the  lordly  '  ypocras ' 
wherewith  Sir  Eichard  Whittington  entertained  his 
Sovereign,  what  day  he  concluded  the  banquet  by 
burning  the  King's  bonds ;  or  the  once-popular  mixture 
of  gin  and  noyau ;  or  the  cup  of  hot  saloop  from  the 
stall  in  Co  vent  Garden,  or  on  the  Fleet  Bridge. 

The  Tavern  !  We  can  hardly  understand  how  large 
a  place  it  filled  in  the  lives  of  our  forefathers,  who  did 
not  live  scattered  about  in  suburban  villas,  but  over 
their  shops  and  offices.  When  business  was  over,  all  of 
every  class  repaired  to  the  Tavern.  Dr.  Johnson  spent 
the  evenings  of  his  last  years  wholly  at  the  Tavern  ; 
the  lawyer,  the  draper,  the  grocer,  the  bookseller,  even 
the  clergy,  all  spent  their  evenings  at  the  Tavern,  going 
home  in  time  for  supper  with  their  families.  You  may 
see  the  kind  of  Tavern  life  in  any  small  country  town 


174 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


to  this  clay,  where  the  shopkeepers  assemble  every 
eveninsj  to  smoke  and  talk  to2i:ether.  The  Tavern  was 
far  more  than  a  modern  club,  because  the  tendency  of 
a  club  is  to  become  daily  more  decorous,  while  the 
Tavern  atmosphere  of  freedom  and  the  equality  of  all 
comers  prevented  the  growth  of  artificial  and  conventional 
restraints. .  Something  of  the  Tavern  life  is  left  still  in 
London  ;  but  not  much.  The  substantial  tradesman  is 
no  longer  resident ;  there  are  no  longer  any  clubs  which 
meet  at  Taverns ;  and  the  old  inns,  with  their  sanded 


SIGN    OF    THE    SWAN    WITH    TWO    NECKS, 
CARTER   LANE 


SIGN    OF    THE    BOLT-IN-TUN, 
FLEET    STREET 


floors  and  great  fireplaces,  are  nearly  all  gone.  The 
Swan  with  Two  Necks,  the  Belle  Sauvage,  the  Tabard, 
the  George  and  Vulture,  the  Bolt-in-Tun — they  have 
either  ceased  their  existence,  or  their  names  call  forth 
no  more  associations  of  good  company  and  good  songs. 
The  Dog  and  Duck,  the  Temple  of  Flora,  Apollo's  Gar- 
dens, the  Bull  in  the  Pound,  the  Blue  Lion  of  Gray's 
Inn  Lane — what  memories  linger  round  tliese  names  ? 
What  man  is  now  living  who  can  tell  us  where  they 
were  .^ 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

IN   CLUB-   AND    CAED-LAND. 

Club-land  was  a  comparatively  small  country,  peopled 
by  a  most  exclusive  race.  There  were  twenty-five  clubs 
in  all,^  and,  as  many  men  had  more  than  one  club,  and 
the  average  membership  was  less  than  a  thousand, 
there  were  not  more  than  20,000  men  altogether  who 
belonged  to  clubs.  There  are  now  at  least  120,000, 
with  nearly  a  hundred  clubs,  to  which  almost  any  man 
might  belong.  Besides  these,  there  are  now  about  sixty 
second-class  clubs,  together  with  a  great  many  clubs 
which  exist  for  special  purposes — betting  and  racing  clubs, 
whist  clubs,  gambling  clubs,  Press  clubs,  and  so  forth. 

Of  the  now  extinct  clubs  may  be  mentioned  the 
Alfred  and  the  Clarence,  which  were  literary  clubs. 
The  Clarence  was  founded  by  Campbell  on  the  ashes  of 
the  extinct  Literary  Club,  which  had  been  dissolved  in 
consequence  of  internal  dissensions.  The  Athenceum  had 

1  The  following  is  the  complete  list  of  clubs,  taken  from  the  New  Monthly 
Magazine  of  the  year  1835 : — Albion,  Alfred,  Arthur's,  Athenseura,  Boodle's, 
Brookes's,  Carlton,  Clarence,  Cocoa-tree,  Crockford's,  Garrick,  Graham's, 
Guards',  Orieutal,  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  Portland,  Royal  Naval,  Travellers, 
Union,  United  Service,  Junior  Umxed  Service,  University,  West  Indian, 
White's,  Windham. 


176 


FIFTY   YFARS  AGO 


the  character  which  it  still  preserves  ;  one  of  the  few 
things  in  this  club  complained  of  by  the  members  of 
1837  was  the  use  of  gas  in  the  dining-room,  which  pro- 
duced an  atmosphere  wherein,  it  was  said,  no  animals 
ungifted  with  copper  lungs  could  long  exist.  The  Gar- 
rick  Club  was  exclusively  theatrical.     The  Oriental  was, 


OXFOKD    AND    CAMBRIDGE    CLUB,    PALIi    MALL 

of  course,  famous  for  curry  and  Madeira,  the  Union 
had  a  sprinkling  of  City  men  in  it,  the  United  University 
was  famous  for  its  iced  punch,  and  the  Windham  was 
the  first  club  which  allowed  strangers  to  dine  within  its 
walls.  Speaking  generally,  no  City  men  at  all,  nor  any 
who  were  connected  in  any  way  with  trade,  were  ad- 


Q:^ 


IN  CLUB-   AND   CARD- LAND 


177 


mitted  into  tlie  clubs  of  London.  A  barrister,  a  pliy- 
sician,  or  a  clergyman  might  be  elected,  and,  of  course, 
all  men  in  the  Services  ;  but  a  merchant,  an  attorney,  a 
surgeon,  an  architect,  might  knock  in  vain. 

The  club  subscription  was  generally  six  guineas  a 
year,  and  if  we  may  judge  by  the  fact  that  you  could 
dine  off  the  joint  at  the  Carlton  for  a  shilling,  the  clubs 
were  much  cheaper  than  they  are  now.     They  were 


UNITED    UNIVEKSITY    CLUB,    PAUi    MALL 


also  quite  as  dull.  Thackeray  describes  the  dulness  of 
the  club,  the  pride  of  belonging  to  it,  the  necessity  of 
having  at  least  one  good  club,  the  hahitues  of  the  card- 
room,  the  talk,  and  the  scandal.  But  the  new  clubs  of 
our  day  are  larger :  their  members  come  from  a  more 
extended  area  ;  there  are  few  young  City  men  who  have 
not  their  club ;  and  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  know  a 
man  because  he  is  a  member  of  your  club      And  when 


178  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

one  contrasts  the  cold  and  silent  coffee-room  of  the  new 
great  club,  where  the  men  glare  at  each  other,  with  the 
bright  and  cheerful  Tavern,  where  every  man  talked 
with  his  neighbour,  and  the  song  went  round,  and  the 
great  kettle  bubbled  on  the  hearth,  one  feels  that  civili- 
sation has  its  losses. 

We  have  our  gambling  clubs  still.  From  time  to 
time  til  ere  comes  a  rumour  of  high  play,  a  scandal,  or 
an  action  in  the  High  Court  of  Justice  for  the  recovery 
of  one's  character.  Baccarat  is  played  all  night  by  the 
young  men  ;  champagne  is  flowing  for  their  refresh- 
ment, and  sometimes  a  few  hundreds  are  lost  by  some 
young  fellow  who  can  ill  afford  it.  But  these  things 
are  small  and  insignificant  compared  with  the  gambling 
club  of  fifty  years  ago. 

He  who  speaks  of  gambling  in  the  year  Thirty-seven, 
speaks  of  Crockford's.  Everything  at  Crockford's  was 
magnificent.  The  subscription  was  ten  guineas  a  year, 
in  return  for  which  the  members  had  the  ordinary  club - 
and  coffee-rooms  providing  food  and  wine  at  the  usual 
club  charges — these  were  on  the  ground  floor — and  the 
run  of  the  gambling-rooms  every  night,  to  which  they 
could  introduce  guests  and  friends.  These  rooms  were 
on  the  first  floor  :  they  consisted  of  a  saloon,  in  which 
there  was  served  every  night  a  splendid  supper,  with 
wines  of  the  best,  free  to  all  visitors.  Crockford  paid 
his  chef  a  thousand  guineas  a  year,  and  his  assistant  five 
hundred,  and  his  cellar  was  reputed  to  be  worth  70,000/. 
There  were  two  card-rooms,  one  in  which  whist,  ecarte, 


IN  CLUB-   AND    CARD- LAND 


T79 


and  all  other  games  were  played,  and  a  second  smaller 
room,  in  wliicli  hazard  alone  was  played.  Every  night 
at  eleven  the  banker  and  proprietor  himself  took  his  seat 
at  his  desk  in  a  corner ;  his  croitpiei\  sitting  opposite  to 
him  in  a  high  chair,  declared  the  game,  paid  the  winners, 
and  raked  in  the  money.  Crockford's  '  Spiders  ' — that 
is,  the  gentlemen  who  had  the  run  of  the  establishment 
under    certain    implied    conditions — introduced    their 


crockfoed's,  ST.  James's  street 


friends  to  the  supper  and  the  champagne  first,  and  to  the 

hazard-room  next.  At  two  in  the  morning  the  doors  were 

closed,  and  nobody  else  was   admitted  ;  but  the  play 

went  on  all  night  long.     Crockford  not  only  held  the 

bank,  but  was  ready  to  advance  money  to  those  who 

lost,  and  outside  the  card-room  treated  for  reversionary 

interests,  post-obits,  and  other  means  for  raising  the 

wind.     The  p-ame  was  what  is  called  '  French  Hazard,' 
16—2 


i8o  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

in  which  the  players  play  against  the  bank.  Thousands 
were  every  night  lost  and  won.  As  much  as  a  million 
of  money  has  been  known  to  change  hands  in  a  single 
night,  and  the  banker  was  ready  to  meet  any  stake 
offered.  Those  who  lost  borrowed  more  in  order  to  con- 
tinue the  game,  and  lost  that  as  well.  But  Crockford 
seems  never  to  have  been  accused  of  any  dishonourable 
practices.  He  trusted  to  the  chances  of  the  table,  which 
Avere,  of  course,  in  his  favour.  In  his  ledgers — where 
are  they  now  ? — he  was  accustomed  to  enter  the 
names  of  those  who  borrowed  of  him  by  initials  or  a 
number.  He  began  life  as  a  small  fishmonger  just 
within  Temple  Bar,  and,  fortunately  for  himself,  dis- 
covered that  he  was  endowed  with  a  rare  talent  for 
rapid  mental  arithmetic,  of  which  he  made  good  use  in 
betting  and  card-playing.  The  history  of  his  gradual 
rise  to  greatness  from  a  beginning  so  unpromising 
would  be  interesting,  but  perhaps  the  materials  no 
longer  exist.  He  was  a  tall  and  corpulent  man,  lame, 
who  never  acquired  the  art  of  speaking  English  cor- 
rectly,— a  thing  which  his  noble  patrons— the  Duke  of 
Wellington  was  a  member  of  his  club — passed  over  in 
him. 

Everybody  went  to  Crockford's.  Everybody  played 
there.  That  a  young  fellow  just  in  possession  of  a  great 
estate  should  drop  a  few  thousands  in  a  single  night's 
play  was  not  considered  a  thing  worthy  of  remark ;  they 
all  did  it.  We  remember  how  Disraeli's  '  Young  Duke  ' 
went  on  playing  cards  all  night  and  all  next  day — was 


IN  CLUB-  AND   CARD-LAND  r8i 

it  not  all  the  next  night  as  well  ? — till  he  and  his  com- 
panions were  up  to  their  knees  in  cards,  and  the  man 
who  was  waiting  on  them  was  fain  to  lie  down  and  sleep 
for  half  an  hour.  The  passion  of  gambling — it  is  one 
of  those  other  senses  outside  the  five  old  elementary 
endowments — possessed  everybody.  Cards  played  a  far 
more  important  part  in  life  than  they  do  now ;  the 
evening  rubber  was  played  in  every  quiet  house ;  the 
club  card-tables  were  always  crowded ;  for  manly  youth 
there  were  the  fiercer  joys  of  lansquenet,  loo,  vingt-et-un, 
and  ecarte ;  for  the  domestic  circle  there  were  the  whist- 
table  and  the  round  table,  and  at  the  latter  were  played 
a  quantity  of  games,  such  as  Pope  Joan,  Commerce, 
Speculation,  and  I  know  not  what,  all  for  money,  and 
all  depending  for  their  interest  on  the  hope  of  winning 
and  the  fear  of  losing.  Family  gambling  is  gone.  If 
in  a  genteel  suburban  villa  one  was  to  propose  a  round 
game,  and  call  for  the  Pope  Joan  board,  there  would  be 
a  smile  of  wonder  and  pity.  As  well  ask  for  a  glass  of 
negus,  or  call  for  the  Caledonians  at  a  dance ! 

Scandals  there  were,  of  course.  Men  gambled  away 
the  whole  of  their  great  estates ;  they  loaded  their 
property  with  burdens  in  a  single  night  which  would 
keep  their  children  and  their  grandchildren  poor. 
They  grew  desperate,  and  became  hawks  on  the  look- 
out for  pigeons ;  they  cheated  at  the  card-table  (read 
the  famous  case  of  Lord  De  Eos  in  this  very  year) ;  they 
were  always  being  detected  and  expelled,  and  so  could 
no  more  show  their  faces  at  any  place  where  gentlemen 


i82  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

congregated  ;  and  sank  from  Crockford's  to  the  cheaper 
hells,  such  as  the  cribs  where  the  tradesmen  used  to 
gamble,  those  frequented  by  City  clerks,  by  gentlemen's 
servants,  and  even  those  of  the  low  French  and  Italians. 
They  were  illegal  cribs,  and  informers  were  always  get- 
ting money  by  causing  the  proprietors  to  be  indicted. 
It  was  said  of  Thurtell,  after  he  was  hanged  for  murder- 
ing Weare,  that  he  had  offered  to  murder  eight  Irish- 
men, who  had  informed  against  these  hells,  for  the 
consideration  of  40/.  a  head.  When  they  were  suffered 
to  proceed,  however,  the  proprietors  always  made  their 
fortunes.  No  doubt  their  descendants  are  now  country 
gentry,  and  the  green  cloth  has  long  since  been  folded 
up  and  put  away  in  the  lumber-room,  with  the  rake 
and  the  croupier's  green  shade  and  his  chaii,  and  the 
existence  of  these  relics  is  forgotten. 


r.-y^JT'.     ,^^^/C-^^y^ 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

WITH   THE    WITS. 

The  ten  years  of  the  Thirties  are  a  peiiod  concerning 
whose  literary  history  the  ordinary  reader  knows  next 
to  nothing.  "Set  a  good  deal  that  has  survived  for  fifty 
years,  and  promises  to  live  longer,  was  accomplished  in 
that  period.  Dickens,  for  example,  began  his  career  in  the 
year  1837  with  his  '  Sketches  by  "  Boz  "  '  and  the  '  Pick- 
wick Papers  ; '  Lord  Lytton,then  Mr.  Lytton  Biilwer,  had 
already  before  that  year  published  five  novels,  including 
'Paul  Chfford'  and  'The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.'  Tenny- 
son had  already  issued  the  '  Poems,  by  Two  Brothers,' 
and  '  Poems  chiefly  Lyrical.'  Disraeli  had  written 
'  The  Young  Duke,'  '  Vivian  Grey,'  and  '  Venetia.' 
Browning  had  published  '  Paracelsus  '  and  '  Straflbrd  ; ' 
Marryat  began  in  1834  ;  Carlyle  published  the  '  Sartor 
Resartus '  in  1832.  But  one  must  not  estimate  a  period 
by  its  beginners.  All  these  writers  belong  to  the  fol- 
lowing thirty  years  of  the  century.  If  we  look  for 
those  who  were  flourishing — that  is,  those  who  were 
producing  their  best  work — it  will  be  found  that  this 
decade  was   singularly  poor.     The  principal  name  is 


i84 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


that  of  Hood.  There  were  also  Hartley  Coleridge,  Douglas 
Jerrold,  Procter,  Sir  Archibald  Alison,  Theodore  Hook, 
G.  P.  E.  James,  Charles  Knight,  Sir  Henry  Taylor, 
Milman,  Ebeuezer  Elliott,  Harriet  Martineau,  James 
Montgomery,  Talfourd,  Henry  Brougham,  Lady  Bles- 


■    CHARLES    KNIGHT 

(From  a  Photograph  by  Hnghes  &  Mullius,  Regina  House,  Eyde,  Isle  of  Wight) 

sington,  Harrison  Ainsworth,  and  some  others  of  lesser 
note.  This  is  not  a  very  imposing  array.  On  the  other 
hand,  nearly  all  the  great  writers  whom  we  associate 
with  the  first  thirty  years  of  the  century  were  living, 
though  their  best  work  was  done.  After  sixty,  I  take 
it,  the  hand  of  tlie  master  may  still  work  with  the  old 


.<xr^^ 


WITH  THE    WITS 


185 


cunning,  but  his  designs  will  be  no  longer  new  or  bold. 
Wordsworth  was  sixty  in  1'830,  and,  though  he  lived 
for  twenty  years  longer,  and  published  the   '  Yarrow 
Eevisited,'  and,  I  think,  some  of  his  '  Sonnets,'  he  hardly 
added  to  his  fame.     Southey  was  four  years  younger. 
He  published  his  '  Doctor  '  and  '  Essays  '  in  this  decade, 
but  his  best  work  was  done  already.   Scott  died  in  1832  ; 
Coleridge  died  in  1834;  Byron  was  already  dead ;  James 
Hogg    died   in    1835 ; 
Fehcia  Hemans  in  the 
same  year  ;  Tom  Moore 
was  a  gay  young  fellow 
of  fifty  in    1830,    the 
year  in  which  his  hfe 
of  Lord  Byron  appear- 
ed.    He  did  very  httle 
afterwards.     Campbell 
was   two    years   older 
than   Moore,   and    he, 
too,     had      exhausted 
himself.    Eogers,  older 
than  any  of  them,  had  entirely  concluded  his  poetic 
career.     It   is  wonderful  to  think    that  he  began   to 
write    in   1783    and   died    in   1855.     Beckford,  whose 
'  Vathek '   appeared   in    1786,  was  living   until    1844. 
Among  others  who  were  still  living  in  1837  were  James 
and  Horace  Smith,  Wilson    Croker,  Miss   Edge  worth, 
Mrs.  Trollope,  Lucy  Aikin,  Miss  Opie  (who  lived  to  be 
eighty-five),  Jane  Porter  (prematurely  cut  off"  at  seventy- 


EOBEET    SOUTHEY 


1 86 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


four),  and  Harriet  Lee  (whose  immortal  work,  the 
'  Errors  of  Innocence,'  appeared  in  1786,  when  she  was 
akeady  thirty)  lived  on  till  1852,  when  she  was  ninety- 
six.  Bowles,  that  excellent  man,  was  not  yet  seventy, 
and  meant  to  live  for  twenty  years  longer.  De  Quincey 
was  fifty-two  in  1837,  Christopher  North  was  in  full 
vigour,  Thomas  Love  Peacock,  who  published  his  first 


THOMAS    MOORE 


novel  in  1810,  was  destined  to  produce  a  last,  equally 
good,  in  1860 ;  Landor,  born  in  1775,  was  not  to  die 
until  1864;  Leigh  Hunt,  who  in  1837  was  fifty-three 
years  of  age,  belongs  to  the  time  of  Byron.  John  Keble, 
whose  'Christian  Year 'was  published  in  1827,  was 
forty-four  in  1837 ;  'L.  E.  L.'  died  in  1838.  In  America, 
Washington  Irving,  Emerson,  Channing,  Bryant ,  Whittier, 
and  Longfellow,  make  a  good  group.  In  France,  Chateau- 


WITH  THE    WITS 


187 


briand,  Lamartine,  Victor  Hugo,  Beranger,  Alfred  de 
Musset,  Scribe,  and  Dumas  were  all  writing,  a  group 
much  stronger  than  our  English  team. 

It  is  dijBScult  to  understand,  at  first,  that  between 
the  time  of  Scott,  Wordsworth,  Byron,  and  Keats,  and 
tliat  of  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Marryat,  Lever,  Tennj^son, 


' VATHEK      BECKFOKD 
(From  a  Medallion) 


Browning,  and  Carlyle,  there  existed  this  generation 
of  wits,  most  of  them  almost  forgotten.  Those,  how- 
ever, who  consider  the  men  and  women  of  the  Thirties 
have  to  deal,  for  the  most  part,  Avith  a  literature 
that  is  third-rate.  This  kind  becomes  dreadfully  flat 
and  stale  when  it  has  been  out  for  fifty  years  ;  the 
dullest,  flattest,  dreariest  reading  that  can  be  found  on 


1 88  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

the  shelves  in  the  sprightly  novel  of  Society,  written  in 
the  Thirties. 

A  blight  had  fallen  npon  novels  and  their  writers. 
The  enormous  success  that  Scott  had  achieved  tempted 
hundreds  to  follow  in  his  path,  if  that  were  possible. 


WALTER    SAVAGE    LANDOR 

(From  a  Photograph  by  H.  Watkins) 


It  was  not  possible  ;  but  this  they  could  not  know,  be- 
cause nothing  seems  so  easy  to  write  as  a  novel,  and  no 
man,  of  those  destined  to  fail,  can  understand  in  what 
respects  his  own  work  falls  short  of  Scott's.  That  is 
the  chief  reason  why  he  fails.     Scott's  success,  however, 


JOtl 


WITH  THE    WITS 


189 


produced  another  effect.  It  greatly  enlarged  the  num- 
ber of  novel  readers,  and  caused  them  to  buy  up  eagerly 
anything  new,  in  the  hope  of  finding  another  Scott. 
Thus,  about  the  year  1826  there  were  produced  as  many 
as  250  three-  and  four- volume  novels  a  year — that  is  to 
say,  about  as  many  as  were  published  in  1886,  when 
the  area  of  readers  has  been  multiplied  by  ten.  We 
are  also  told  that  nearly 
all  these  novels  could  com- 
mand a  sale  of  750  to  1,000 
each,  while  anything  above 
the  average  would  have  a 
sale  of  1,500  to  2,000. 
The  usual  price  given  for 
these  novels  was,  we  are 
also  told,  from  200/.  to  300/. 
In  that  case  the  publishers 
must  have  had  a  happy  and 
a  prosperous  time,  netting 
splendid  hauls.  But  I  think 
that  we  must  take  these  figures  with  considerable 
deductions.  There  were,  as  yet,  no  circulating  libraries 
of  any  importance ;  their  place  was  supplied  by 
book-clubs,  to  which  the  publishers  chiefly  looked  for 
the  purchase  of  their  books.  But  one  cannot  believe 
that  the  book-clubs  would  take  copies  of  all  the  rubbish 
that  came  out.  Some  of  these  novels  I  have  read ; 
some  of  them  actually  stand  on  my  shelves  ;  and  I  de- 
clare that  anything  more  dreary  and  unprofitable  it  is 


RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON 


ipo 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


difficult  to  imagine.  At  last  there  was  a  revolt :  tlie 
public  would  stand  this  kind  of  stuff  no'  longer.  Down 
dropped  the  circulation  of  the  novels.  Instead  of  2,000 
copies  subscribed,  the  dismayed  publisher  now  read  50, 
and  the  whole  host  of  novelists  vanished  like  a  swarm 
of  midges.     At  the  same  time  poetry  went  down  too. 


liOKD   BYBON 


The  drop  in  poetry  was  even  more  terrible  than  that 
of  novels.  Suddenly,  and  without  any  warning,  the 
people  of  Great  Britain  left  off  reading  poetry.  To  be 
sure,  they  had  been  flooded  with  a  prodigious  quantity 
of  trash.  One  anonymous  '  popular  poet,'  whose  name 
will  never  now  be  recovered,  received  100/.  for  his  last 
poem  from  a  publisher  who  thought,  no  doubt,  that  the 


WITH   THE    WITS  191 

'  boom '  was  going  to  last.  Of  this  popular  poet's  work 
he  sold  exactly  fifty  copies.  Another,  a  '  humorous  '  bard, 
who  also  received  a  large  sum  for  his  immortal  poem, 
showed  in  the  unhappy  publisher's  books  no  more  than 
eighteen  copies  sold.     This  was  too  ridiculous,  and  from 


SIR    WALTER    SCOTT 


that  day  to  this  the  trade  side  of  poetry  has  remained 
under  a  cloud.  That  of  novelist  has,  fortunately  for  some, 
been  redeemed  from  contempt  by  the  enormous  success  of 
Dickens,  Thackeray,  George  Eliot,  and  by  the  solid,  though 
substantial,  success  of  the  lesser  lights.  Poets  have  now 
to  pay  for  the  publication  of  their  own  works,  but  nove- 


192  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

lists — some  of  them — command  a  price  ;  those,  namely, 
who  do  not  have  to  pay  for  the  production  of  their  works. 

The  popular  taste,  thus  cloyed  with  novels  and 
poetry,  turned  to  books  on  popular  science,  on  statistics, 
on  health,  and  on  travel.  Barry  Cornwall's  *  Life  of 
Kean,'  Campbell's  '  Life  of  Siddons,'  the  Lives  of  Sale, 
Sir  Thomas  Picton,  and  Lord  Exmouth,  for  example, 
were  all  well  received.  So  Eoss's  '  Arctic  Seas,'  Lamar- 
tine's  '  Pilgrimage,'  Macfarlane's  '  Travels  in  the  East,' 
Holman's  '  Pound  the  World,'  and  Quin's  'Voyage  down 
the  Danube,'  all  commanded  a  sale  of  1,000  copies 
each  at  least  Works  of  religion,  of  course,  always  suc- 
ceed, if  they  are  written  with  due  regard  to  the  rehgious 
leaning  of  the  moment.  It  shows  how  religious  fash- 
ions change  when  we  find  that  the  copyright  of  the 
works  of  Eobert  Hall  realised  4,000/.  and  that  of  Charles 
Simeon's  books  5,000/. ;  while  of  the  Eev.  Alexander 
Fletcher's '  Book  of  Family  Devotions,'  published  at  245., 
2,000  copies  were  sold  on  the  day  of  publication.  I 
dare  say  the  same  thing  would  happen  again  to-day  if 
another  Mr.  Fletcher  were  to  hit  upon  another  happy 
thought  in  the  way  of  a  rehgious  book. 

I  think  that  one  of  the  causes  of  the  decay  of  trade 
as  regards  poetry  and  fiction  may  have  been  the  bad- 
ness of  the  annuals.  You  will  find  in  any  old-fashioned 
library  copies  of  the  '  Keepsake,'  the  '  Forget-me-Not,' 
the  '  Book  of  Beauty,'  '  Flowers  of  Loveliness,'  Finden's 
*  Tableaux,'  'The  Book  of  Gems,'  and  others  of  that  now 
extinct  tribe.     They  were  beautifully  printed  on  the 


WITH  THE    WITS 


193 


finest  paper;  they  were  illustrated  with  the  most  lovely 
steel  engravings,  the  hke  of  which  could  not  now  be 


A    FASHIONABLE    BEAUTY    OF    1837 
(By  A.  E.  Chalon,  R.A.) 


had 'at  any  price;    they   were   bound   in   brown   and 
crimson  watered  silk, most  fascinationg  to  look  upon ;  and 


194  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

they  were  published  at  a  guinea.  As  for  their  contents, 
they  were,  to  begin  with,  written  ahnost  entirely  by 
ladies  and  gentlemen  with  handles  to  their  names,  each 
number  containing  in  addition  two  or  three  papers  by 
commoners — mere  literary  commoners — ^just  to  give  a 
flavouring  of  style.  In  the  early  Thirties  it  was  fashion- 
able for  lords  and  ladies  to  dash  off  these  trifles.  Byron 
was  a  gentleman ;  Shelley  was  a  gentleman ;  nobody 
else,  to  be  sure,  among  the  poets  and  wits  was  a  gentle- 
man— yet  if  Byron  and  Shelley  condescended  to  bid  for 
fame  and  bays,  why  not  Lord  Reculver,  Lady  Juliet  de 
Dagenham,  or  the  Hon.  Lara  Clonsilla?  I  have  before 
me  the  'Keepsake  '  for  the  year  1831.  Among  the 
authors  are  Lord  Morpeth,  Lord  Nugent,  Lord.  Por- 
chester,  Lord  John  Russell,  the  Hon.  George  Agar  Ellis, 
the  Hon.  Henry  Liddell,  the  Hon.  Charles  Phipps,  the 
Hon.  Robert  Craddock,  and  the  Hon.  Grantley  Berkeley. 
Among  the  ladies  are  the  Countess  of  Blessington, 
'L.  E.  L.,'  and  Agnes  Strickland.  Theodore  Hook  supplies 
the  professional  part.  The  illustrations  are  engraved 
from  pictures  and  drawings  by  Eastlake,  Corbould, 
Westall,  Turner,  Smirke,  Flaxman,  and  other  great 
artists.  The  result,  from  the  literary  point  of  view,  is  a 
collection  much  lower  in  point  of  interest  and  abihty 
than  the  worst  number  of  the  worst  shilling  magazine  of 
the  present  day.  I  venture  to  extract  certain  immortal 
lines  contributed  by  Lord  John  Russell,  who  is  not  gene- 
rally known  as  a  poet.  They  are  '  written  at  Kinneil, 
the  residence  of  the  late  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart.' 


WITH  THE    WITS  195 

To  distant  worlds  a  guide  amid  the  night, 
To  nearer  orbs  the  source  of  life  and  light ; 
Each  star  resplendent  on  its  radiant  throne 
Gilds  other  systems  and  supports  its  own. 
Thus  we  see  Stewart,  in  his  fame  reclined, 
Enlighten  all  the  universe  of  mind  ; 
To  some  for  wonder,  some  for  joy  appear, 
Admired  when  distant  and  beloved  when  near. 
'Twas  he  gave  rules  to  Fancy,  grace  to  Thought, 
Taught  Virtue's  laws,  and  practised  what  he  taught. 

Dear  me !  Something  similar  to  the  last  line  one 
remembers  written  by  an  earlier  bard.  In  the  same 
way  Terence  has  been  accused  of  imitating  the  old 
Eton  Latin  Grammar. 

Somewhere  about  the  year  1837  the  world  began 
to  kick  at  the  '  Keepsakes,"  and  they  gradually  got  ex- 
tinguished. Then  the  lords  and  the  countesses  put 
away  their  verses  and  dropped  into  prose,  and,  to  the 
infinite  loss  of  mankind,  wrote  no  more  until  editors  of 
great  monthlies,  anxious  to  show  a  hst  of  illustrious 
names,  began  to  ask  them  again. 

As  for  the  general  literature  of  the  day,  there  must 
have  been  a  steady  demand  for  new  works  of  all  kinds, 
for  it  was  estimated  that  in  1836  there  were  no  fewer 
than  four  thousand  persons  living  by  literary  work.  Most 
of  them,  of  course,  must  have  been  simple  publishers' 
hacks.  But  seven  hundred  of  them  in  London  were 
journalists.  kX,  the  present  day  there  are  said  to  be  in 
London  alone  fourteen  thousand  men  and  women  who 
live  by  writing.  And  of  this  number  I  should  think 
that   thirteen  thousand  are  in  some  way  or  other  con- 


196  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

nected  with  journalism.  Publishers'  hacks  still  exist — 
that  is  to  say,  the  unhappy  men  who,  without  genius 
or  natural  aptitude,  or  the  art  of  writing  pleasantly, 
are  eternally  engaged  in  compiling,  stealing,  arranging, 
and  putting  together  books  which  maybe  palmed  off  upon 
an  uncritical  public  for  prize  books  and  presents.  But 
they  are  far  fewer  in  proportion  than  they  were,  and 
perhaps  the  next  generation  may  live  to  see  them  extinct. 
What  did  they  write,  this  regiment  of  3,300 
litterateurs  ?     Novelists,  as  we  have  learned,  had  fallen 

upon  evil  times ;  poetry  was 
what  it  still  continues  to  be, 
a  drug  in  the  market ;  but 
there  was  the  whole  range 
of  the  sciences,  there  w^ere 
morals,  theology,  education, 
travels,  biography,  history, 
the  literature  of  Art  in  all 
its  branches,  archaeology,  an- 

(From  the  Picture  by  Sir  X.  Lawrence)        ^-^^^    ^^^^    modcm    literature, 

criticism,  and  a  hundred  other  things.  Yet,  making 
ahowance  for  everything,  I  cannot  but  think  that  the 
3,300  must  have  had  on  the  whole  an  idle  and  im- 
profitable  time.  However,  some  books  of  the  year  may 
be  recorded.  First  of  all,  in  the  '  Annual  Eegister '  for 
1837  there  appears  a  poem  by  Alfred  Tennyson.  I 
have  copied  a  portion  of  it : — 

Oil  !  tliat  'twere  possible, 

After  long  grief  and  pain, 
To  find  the  arms  of  my  true  love 

Round  me  once  ajrain  ! 


LORD  TENNYSON  AS  A  YOUNG  MAN 


WITH  THE    WITS  197 

Wlien  I  was  wont  to  meet  her 
In  the  silent  woody  places 

Of  the  land  that  gave  me  birth, 
We  stood  tranced  in  long  embraces, 
Mixt  with  kisses  sweeter,  sweeter 

Than  anything  on  earth. 

A  shadow  flits  before  me — 

Not  thee  but  like  to  thee. 
Ah  God  !  that  it  were  possible 

For  one  short  hour  to  see 
The  souls  we  loved  that  they  might  tell  us 

What,  and  where  they  be. 

It  leads  me  forth  at  evening, 

It  lightly  winds  and  steals. 
In  a  cold  white  robe  befoi-e  me, 

When  all  my  spirit  reels 
At  the  shouts,  the  leagues  of  lights. 

And  the  roaring  of  the  wheels. 

Then  the  broad  light  glares  and  beats, 
And  the  sunk  eye  flits  and  fleets. 

And  will  not  let  me  be. 
I  loathe  the  squares  and  streets 
And  the  faces  that  one  meets, 

Hearts  with  no  love  for  me. 
Always  I  long  to  creep 
To  some  still  cavern  deep, 
And  to  weep  and  weep  and  weep 

My  whole  soul  out  to  thee. 

Books,  indeed,  there  were  in  plenty.  Lady  Bles- 
sington  produced  her  '  Victims  of  Society '  and  '  Sunday 
at  the  Zoo  ; '  ]\ir.  Lytton  Bulwer  his  '  Duchesse  de  la 
YalUere,'  '  Ernest  Maltravers,'  and  '  Athens,  its  Eise 
and  Fall ; '  Miss  Mitford  her  '  Country  Stories  ; '  Cottle 
his  '  Recollections  of  Coleridge  ; '  Harrison  Ainsworth, 
*  Crichton  ; '  Disraeli,  '  Venetia  ; '  Talfourd,  '  The  Life 


198  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

and  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb  ; '  Babbage,  a  *  Bridgwater 
Treatise  ; '   Hook,   '  Jack   Brag  ; '   Haynes   Bayley,    his 

*  Weeds  of  Witchery' — a  thing  as  much  forgotten  as 
the  weeds  in  last  year's  garden  ;  James,  his  *  Attila ' 
and  '  Louis  XIV. ; '  Miss  Martineau,  her  book  on 
'American  Society.'  I  find,  not  in  the  book,  which  I 
have  not  read,  but  in  a  review  of  it,  two  stories,  which 
I  copy.  One  is  of  an  American  traveller  who  had  been 
to  Eome,  and  said  of  it,  '  Eome  is  a  very  fine  city,  sir, 
but  its  public  buildings  are  out  of  repair.'  The  other 
is  the  following :  '  Few  men,'  said  the  preacher  in  his 
sermon,  '  when  they  build  a  house,  remember  that 
there  must  some  day  be  a  coffin  taken  downstairs.* 
'  Ministers,'  said  a  lady  who  had  been  present,  '  have 
got  into  the  strangest  way  of  choosing  subjects.  True, 
wide  staircases  are  a  great  convenience,  but  Christian 
ministers  might  find  better  subjects  for  their  discourses 
than  narrow  staircases.' 

In  addition  to  the  above.  Hartley  Coleridge  wrote 
the  '  Lives  of  Northern  Worthies  ; '  the  complete  poeti- 
cal works  of  Southey  appeared — he  himself  died  at 
the  beginning  of  1842  ;  Dion  Boucicault  produced  his 
first  play,  being  then  fiiteen  years  of  age ;  Carlyle 
brought  out  his   '  French   Eevolution ; '  Lockhart  his 

*  Life  of  Scott ; '  Martin  Tupper  the  first  series  of  the 

*  Proverbial  Philosophy ; '  Hallam  his  '  Literature  of 
Europe ; '  there  were  the  usual  travels  in  Arabia, 
Armenia,  Italy,  and  Ireland  ;  with,  no  doubt,  the  annual 
avalanche  of  sermons,  pamphlets,  and  the  rest.     Above 


WITH  THE    WITS  199 

all,  however,  it  must  be  remembered  that  to  this  time 
belong  the  '  Sketches  by  "  Boz  "  '  (1836)  and  the  '  Pick- 
wick Papers  '  (1837-38).  Of  the  latter,  the  Athenccum 
not  unwisely  remarked  that  they  were  made  up  of 
*  three  pounds  of  Smollett,  three  ounces  of  Sterne,  a 
handful  of  Hook,  a  dash  of  a  grammatical  Pierce  Egan  ; 
the  incidents  at  pleasure,  served  with  an  original  sauce 

piquante We    earnestly   hope    and    trust  that 

nothing  we  have  said  will  tend  to  refine  Boz.'  One 
could  hardly  expect  a  critic  to  be  ready  at  once  to 
acknowledge  that  here  was  a  genius,  original,  totally 
unlike  any  of  his  predecessors,  who  knew  the  great  art 
of  drawing  from  life,  and  depicting  nothing  but  what 
he  knew.  As  for  Thackeray,  he  was  still  in  the  chrysalis 
stage,  though  his  Hkeness  appears  with  those  of  the 
contributors  to  Erasers  Ma(jazine  in  the  portrait 
group  of  Fraserians  published  in  1839.  His  first 
independently  published  book,  I  think,  was  the  '  Paris 
Sketch  Book,'  which  was  not  issued  until  the  year 
1840. 

Here,  it  will  be  acknowledged,  is  not  a  record  to  be 
quite  ashamed  of,  with  Carlyle,  Talfourd,  Hallam,  and 
Dickens  to  adorn  and  illustrate  the  year.  After  all,  it 
is  a  great  thing  for  any  year  to  add  one  enduring  book 
to  English  Literature,  and  it  is  a  great  deal  to  show  so 
many  works  which  are  still  read  and  remembered. 
Lytton's  '  Ernest  Maltravers,'  though  not  his  best  novel, 
is  still  read  by  some;  Talfourd's  'Charles  Lamb'  re- 
mains ;  Disraeli's  '  Yeiietia  ; '  Lockhart's  '  Life  of  Scott ' 


200 


FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


is  the  best  biography  of  the  novehst  and  poet;  Carlyle's 
'  French  Eevohition '  shows  no  sign  of  being  forgotten. 
Between  the  first  and  the  fiftieth  years  of  Victoria's 
reign  there  arose  and  fiourished  and  died  a  new  gene- 
ration of  great  men.  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Lytton,  in 
his  later  and  better  style  ;  George  Eliot,  Charles  Eeade, 
George  Meredith, Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  stand  in  the  very 
front  rank  of  novelists ;  in  the  second  line  are  Charles 


Kingsley,  Mrs.  Gaskell,  Lever,  TroUope,  and  a  few  living 
men  and  women.  Tennyson,  Browning,  Swinburne, 
Matthew  Arnold,  are  the  new  poets.  Carlyle,  Freeman, 
Froude,  Stiibbs,  Green,  Lecky,  Buckle,  have  founded 
a  new  school  of  history  ;  Maurice  has  broadened  the 
old  theology ;  Darwin,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Lockyer,  and 
many  others  have  advanced  the  boundaries  of  science  ; 
philology  has  become  one  of  the  exact  sciences  ;  a 
great  school  of  political  economy  has  arisen,  flourish edg 


WITH  THE    WITS  201 

and  decayed.  As  to  the  changes  that  have  come  upon 
the  literature  of  the  country,  the  new  points  of  view, 
the  new  creeds,  these  belong  to  another  chapter. 

There  has  befallen  literature  of  late  years  a  grievous, 
even  an  irreparable  blow.  It  has  lost  the  salon.  There 
are  no  longer  graiides  dames   de  par   le  monde,  who 


CHARLES    DABWIN 


attract  to  their  drawing-rooms  the  leaders  and  the 
lesser  hghts  of  literature ;  there  are  no  longer,  so  far 
as  I  know,  any  places  at  all,  even  any  clubs,  which  are 
recognised  centres  of  literature  ;  there  are  no  longer 
any  houses  where  one  will  be  sure  to  find  great  talkers, 
and  to  hear  them  talking  all  night  long.  There  are  no 
longer  any  great  talkers — that  is  to   say,  many  men 


202  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

there  are  who  talk  well,  but  there  are  no  Sydney  Smiths 
or  Macaulays,  and  in  houses  where  the  Sydney  Smith 
of  the  day  would  go  for  his  talk,  he  would  not  be 
encouraged  to  talk  much  after  midnight.  In  the  same 
way,  there  are  clubs,  like  the  Athena3um  and  the  Savile, 
where  men  of  letters  are  among  the  members,  but  they 
do  not  constitute  the  members,  and  they  do  not  give 
altogether  its  tone  to  the  club. 

]?ifty  years  ago  tliere  were  two  houses  which,  each 
in  its  own  way,  were  recognised  centres  of  Hterature. 
Every  man  of  letters  went  to  Gore  House,  which  was 
open  to  all ;  and  every  man  of  letters  who  could  get 
there  went  to  Holland  House. 

The  former  establishment  was  presided  over  by  the 
Countess  of  Blessington,  at  this  time  a  widow,  still 
young  and  still  attractive,  though  beginning  to  be 
burdened  with  the  care  of  an  estabhshment  too  ex- 
pensive for  her  means.  She  was  the  author  of  a  good 
many  novels,  now  almost  forgotten — it  is  odd  how  well 
one  knows  the  name  of  Lady  Blessington,  and  how  little 
is  generally  known  about  her  history,  literary  or  per- 
sonal— and  she  edited  every  year  one  of  the  '  Keep- 
sakes '  or  '  Forget-me-Nots.'  From  certain  indications, 
the  bearing  of  which  her  biographer,  Mr.  Madden,  did 
not  seem  to  understand,  I  gather  that  her  novels  did 
not  prove  to  the  pubhshers  the  literary  success  which 
they  expected,  and  I  also  infer — from  the  fact  that  she 
was  always  changing  them — that  a  dinner  at  Gore 
House  and  the  society  of  all  the  wits  after  dinner  were 


WITH  THE    WITS 


203 


not  always  attractions  strong  enough  to  loosen  their 
purse-strings.  This  lady,  whose  maiden  name  was 
Power,  was  of  an  Irish  family,  her  father  being  engaged, 
when  he  was  not  shooting  rebels,  in  unsuccessful  trade. 
Her  life  was  adventurous  and  also  scandalous.  She 
was  married  at  sixteen  to  a  Captain  Farmer,  from  whom 
she  speedily  separated,  and  came  over  to  London,  where 
she  lived  for  some  years — her  biographer  does  not  ex- 
plain how  she  got  money — a  grass  widow.     When  Lord 


HOLLAND    HOUSE 


Blessington  lost  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Farmer  lost  her 
husband — the  gallant  Captain  got  drunk,  and  fell  out 
of  a  window — they  were  married,  and  went  abroad 
traveUing  in  great  state,  as  an  EngHsh  milor  of  those 
days  knew  how  to  travel,  with  a  train  of  half-a-dozen 
carriages,  his  own  cook  and  valet,  the  Countess's 
women,  a  whole  hatterie  de  cuisine^  a  quantity  of  furni- 
ture, couriers,  and  footmen,  and  his  own  great  carriage. 
With  them  went  the  Count   d'Orsay,  then  about  two- 


204  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

and-twenty,  and  young  Charles  Mathews,  then  about 
twenty,  a  'protege  of  Lord  Blessington,  who  was  a  friend 
and  patron  of  the  drama. 

After  Lord  Blessington  died  it  was  arranged  that 
Count  d'Orsay  should  marry  his  daughter.  But  the 
Count  separated  from  his  wife  a  week  or  two  after  the 
wedding,  and  returned  to  the  widow,  whom  he  never 
afterwards  left,  always  taking  a  lodging  near  her  house, 
and  forming  part  of  her  household.  The  Countess 
d'Orsay,  one  need  not  explain,  did  not  visit  her  step- 
mother at  Gore  House. 

Here,  however,  you  would  meet  Tom  Moore,  the 
two  Bulwers,  Campbell,  Talfourd,  James  and  Horace 
Smith,  Landseer,  Theodore  Hook,  Disraeli  the  elder  and 
the  younger,  Sogers,  Washington  Irving,  N.  P.  Willis, 
Marryat,  Macready,  Charles  Dickens,  Albert  Smith, 
Forster,  Walter  Savage  Landor,  and,  in  short,  nearly 
every  one  who  had  made  a  reputation,  or  was  likely  to 
make  it.  Hither  came  also  Prince  Louis  Napoleon, 
in  whose  fortunate  star  Count  d'Orsay  always  firmly 
beheved.  The  conversation  was  lively,  and  the  even- 
ings were  prolonged.  As  for  ladies,  there  were  few 
ladies  who  went  to  Gore  House.  Doubtless  they  had 
their  reasons.  The  outer  circle,  so  to  speak,  consisted 
of  such  men  as  Lord  Abinger,  Lord  Durham,  Lord 
Strangford,  Lord  Porchester,  Lord  Nugent,  writers  and 
poetasters  who  "contributed  their  illustrious  names  and 
their  beautiful  productions  to  Lady  Blessington's  '  Keep- 
sakes.'    Thackeray  was  one  of  the  '•  intimates  '  at  Gore 


WITH  THE    WITS  205 

House,  and  when  the  crash  came  in  1849,  and  the 
place  was  sold  up  by  the  creditors,  it  is  on  record  that 
the  author  of  '  Vanity  Fair '  was  the  only  person  who 
showed  emotion.  '  Mr.  Thackeray  also  came,'  wrote  the 
Countess's  valet  to  his  mistress,  who  had  taken  refuge 
in  Paris,  '  and  he  went  away  with  tears  in  his  eyes  ;  he 
is  perhaps  the  only  person  I  have  seen  really  affected 
at  your  departure.'  In  1837  he  was  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  but  he  had  still  to  wait  for  twelve  years  before 
he  was  to  take  his  real  place  in  literature,  and  even  then 
and  until  the  day  of  his  death  there  were  many  who 
could  not  understand  his  greatness. 

As  regards  Lady  Blessington,  her  morals  may  have 
been  deplorable,  but  there  must  have  been  something 
singularly  attractive  about  her  manners  and  conversa- 
tion. It  is  not  by  a  stupid  or  an  unattractive  woman 
that  such  success  as  hers  was  attained.  Her  novels,  so 
far  as  I  have  been  able  to  read  them,  show  no  remark- 
able ability,  and  her  portrait  shows  amiability  rather 
than  cleverness ;  yet  she  must  have  been  both  clever 
and  amiable  to  get  so  many  clever  men  around  her  and 
to  fix  them,  to  make  them  come  again,  come  often,  and 
regard  her  drawing-room  and  her  society  as  altogether 
charming,  and  to  write  such  verses  upon  her  as  the 
following : — 

Mild  Wilberforce,  by  all  beloved, 

Once  owned  this  hallowed  spot, 
Whose  zealous  eloquence  improved 

The  fettered  Negro's  lot. 


2o6  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

Yet  here  still  slavery  attacks 

Whom  Blessington  invites  ; 
The  chains  from  which  he  freed  the  blacks 

She  rivets  on  the  whites. 

The  following  lines  are  in  another  strain,  more 
artificial,  with  a  false  ring,  and  curiously  unhke  any 
style  of  the  present  day.  They  are  by  N.  P.  Willis, 
who,  in  his  '  Pencillings,'  describes  an  evening  at  Gore 
House : — 

1  gaze  upon  a  face  as  fair 

As  ever  made  a  lip  of  Heaven 
Falter  amid  its  music — prayer  : 

The  first-lit  star  of  summer  even 
Springs  scarce  so  softly  on  the  eye, 

Nor  grows  with  watching  half  so  bright, 
Nor  'mid  its  sisters  of  the  sky 

So  seems  of  Heaven  the  dearest  light. 
Men  murmur  where  that  shape  is  seen  ; 
My  .youth's  angelic  dream  was  of  that  face  and  mien. 

Gore  House  was  a  place  for  men  ;  there  was  more 
than  a  touch  of  Bohemia  in  its  atmosphere.  The  fair 
chatelaine  distinctly  did  not  belong  to  any  noble  house, 
though  she  was  fond  of  talking  of  her  ancestors ;  the 
constant  presence  of  Count  d'Orsay,  and  the  absence  of 
Lady  Harriet,  his  wife  ;  the  coldness  of  ladies  as  regards 
the  place ;  the  whispers  and  the  open  talk  ;  these  things 
did  not,  perhaps,  make  the  house  less  delightful,  but 
they  placed  it  outside  society, 

Holland  House,  on  the  other  hand,  occupied  a 
difierent  position.  The  circle  was  wide  and  the  hos- 
pitable doors  were  open  to  all  who  could  procure  an 
introduction ;  but  it  was  presided  over  by  a  lady  the 


■-'''"itfevi! 


WITH   THE    WITS  207 

opposite  to  Leidy  Blessington  in  every  respect.  She 
ruled  as  well  as  reigned ;  those  who  went  to  Holland 
House  were  made  to  feel  her  power.  The  Princess 
Marie  Liechtenstein,  in  her  book  on  Holland  House,  has 
given  a  long  list  of  those  who  Avere  to  be  found  there 
between  the  years  1796  and  1840.  Among  them  were 
Sydney  Smith,  Macaulay,  Byron,  'Monk'  Lewis,  Lord 
Jeffrey,  Lords  Eldon,  Thurlow,  Brougham,  and  Lynd- 
hurst,  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  Count  Eumford,  Lords 
Aberdeen,  Moira,  and  Macartney,  Grattan,  Curran,  Sir 
Samuel  Eomilly,  Washington  Irving,  Tom  Moore, 
Calonne,  Lally  Tollendal,  Talleyrand,  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  the  Due  d'Orleans,  Metternich,  Canova,  the 
two  Erskines,  Madame  de  Stael,  Lord  John  Eussell,  and 
Lord  Houghton.  There  was  no  such  agreeable  house 
in  Europe  as  Holland  House.  '  There  was  no  profes- 
sional claqueur ;  no  mutual  puffing ;  no  exchanged 
support.  There,  a  man  was  not  unanimously  applauded 
because  he  was  known  to  be  clever,  nor  was  a  woman 
accepted  as  clever  because  she  was  known  to  receive 
clever  people.' 

The  conditions  of  life  and  society  are  so  much 
changed  that  there  can  never  again  be  another  Holland 
House.  For  the  first  thing  which  strikes  one  who  con- 
siders the  history  of  this  place,  as  well  as  Gore  House, 
is  that,  though  the  poets,  wits,  dramatists,  and  novelists 
go  to  these  houses,  their  wives  do  not.  In  these  days 
a  man  who  respects  himself  will  not  go  to  a  house  where 
his  wife  is  not  asked.     Then,  again,  London  is  so  much 


2o8  FIFTY    YEARS  AGO 

greater  in  extent,  and  people  are  so  much  scattered,  that 
it  would  be  difficult  now  to  get  together  a  circle  con- 
sisting of  literary  people  who  lived  near  enough  to 
frequent  the  house.  And  another  thing  :  people  no 
longer  keep  such  late  hours.  They  do  not  sit  up  talk- 
ing all  night.  That  is,  perhaps,  because  there  are  no 
wits  to  talk  with ;  but  I  do  not  know  :  I  think  that 
towards  midnight  the  malice  of  Count  d'Orsay  in  draw- 
ing out  the  absurd  points  in  the  guests,  the  rollicking 
fun  of  Tom  Moore,  or  his  sentimental  songs,  the  repartee 
of  James  Smith,  and  the  polished  talk  of  Lytton  Bulwer, 
all  collar,  cuff,  diamond  pin,  and  wavy  hair,  would  have 
begun  to  pall  upon  me,  and  when  nobody  was  taking 
any  notice  of  so  obscure  an  individual,  I  should  have 
stolen  down  the  stairs,  and  so  out  into  the  open  air 
beneath  the  stars.  For  the  wits  were  very  witty,  but 
they  must  have  been  very  fatiguing.  '  Quite  enough  of 
that,  Macaulay,'  Lady  Holland  would  say,  tapping  her 
fan  upon  the  table.  'Now  tell  us  about  something 
else.' 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

JOURNALS   AND    JOURNALISTS. 

There  was  no  illustrated  paper  in  1887  :  there  was  no 
Punch.  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  as  many  London 
papers  as  there  are  to-day,  and  nearly  as  many  magazines 
and  reviews.  The  limes,  which  is  reported  to  have 
then  had  a  circulation  not  exceeding  10,000  a  day,  was 
already  the  leading  paper.  It  defended  Queen  Caroline, 
and  advocated  the  Eeform  Bill,  and  was  reported  to  be 
ready  to  incur  any  expense  for  early  news.  Thus,  in 
1834,  on  the  occasion  of  a  great  dinner  given  to  Lord 
Durham,  the  Tijnes  spent  200/.  in  having  an  early 
report,  and  that  up  from  the  North  by  special  mes- 
senger. This  is  not  much  in  comparison  with  the 
enterprise  of  telegraph  and  special  correspondents,  but 
it  was  a  great  step  in  advance  of  other  journals.  The 
other  morning  papers  were  the  Morning  Herald,  the 
Morning  Chronicle,  the  Morning  Post,  of  which  Cole- 
ridge was  once  on  the  staff,  the  Morning  Advertiser, 
which  already  represented  the  interest  of  which  it  is 
still  the  organ,  and  the  old  Public  Ledger,  for  which 
Goldsmith  had  once  written. 


210  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

The  evening  papers  were  the  Globe^  which  had 
absorbed  six  other  evening  papers  ;  the  Courier ;  the 
Standard^  once  edited  by  Dr.  Maginn  ;  and  the  True  Sun. 

The  weeklies  were  the  Examiner,  edited  by  the  two 
Hunts  and  Albany  Fonblanque ;  the  Spectator^  whose 
price  seems  to  have  varied  from  ninepence  to  a  shilling  ; 
the  Atlas  ;  Observer  ;  BeWs  Life ;  BeWs  Weekly  Messenger ; 
John  Bull,  which  Theodore  Hook  edited  ;  the  New  Weekly 
Messenger ;  the  Sunday  Times ;  the  Age  ;  the  Satirist ;  the 
Mark  Lane  Ea-press ;  the  County  Chronicle  ;  the  Weekly 
Dispatch,  sometimes  sold  for  8^d.,  sometimes  for  6d. ; 
the  Patriot ;  the  Christian  Advocate ;  the  Watchman  ;  the 
Court  Journal ;  the  Naval  and  Military  Gazette  ;  and  the 
United  Service  Gazette. 

Among  the  reporters  who  sat  in  the  Gallery,  it  is 
remarkable  that  two-thirds  did  not  write  shorthand  ; 
they  made  notes,  and  trusted  to  their  memories  ;  Charles 
Dickens  sat  with  them  in  the  year  1836. 

The  two  great  Quarterlies  still  continue  to  exist,  but 
their  power  has  almost  gone ;  nobody  cares  any  more 
what  is  said  by  either,  yet  they  are  as  well  written  as 
ever,  and  their  papers  are  as  interesting,  if  they  are 
not  so  forcible.  The  Edinburgh  Review  is  said  to  have 
had  a  circulation  of  20,000  copies;  the  Quarterly  is  said 
never  to  have  reached  anything  like  that  number. 
Among  those  who  wrote  for  the  latter  fifty  years  ago,  or 
thereabout,  were  Southey,  Basil  Hall,  John  Wilson 
Croker,  Sir  Francis  Head,  Dean  Milman,  Justice  Cole 
ridge,  Henry  Taylor,  and  Abraham  Hay  ward.  The  West- 


^iS^^^W^^r=^^^ 


JOURNALS  AND  JOURNALISTS  211 

minster,  which  also  included  the  London,  was  supported 
by  such  contributors  as  the  two  Mills,  father  and  son, 
Southwood  Smith,  and  Roebuck.  There  was  also  the 
Foreign  Quarterly,  for  which  Scott,  Southey,  and  Carlyle 
wrote. 

The  monthlies  comprised  the  Gentleman  s  [^iiM  living), 
the  Monthly  Review ;  the  Monthly  Magazine ;  the  Eclectic  ; 
the  New  Monthly ;  Fraser ;  the  Metropolitan ;  the 
Monthly  Repository  ;  the  Lady's ;  the  Court ;  the  Asiatic 
Journal ;  the  East  India  Review  ;  and  the  United  Ser- 
vice Journal. 

The  weekly  magazines  were  the  Literary  Gazette  ; 
the  Parthenon — absorbed  in  the  Literary  in  1842  ;  the 
Athenoeum,  which  Mr.  Dilke  bought  of  Buckingham, 
reducing  the  price  from  8rf.  to  4c?.  ;  the  Mirror ;  Cham- 
bers's Journal ;  the  Penny  Magazine ;  and  the  Saturday 
Magazine,  a  religious  journal  with  a  circulation  of 
200,000. 

All  these  papers,  journals,  quarterlies,  monthlies, 
and  weeklies  found  occupation  for  a  great  number  of 
journalists.  Among  those  who  wrote  for  the  magazines 
were  many  whom  we  know,  and  some  whom  we  have 
forgotten.  Mr.  Cornish,  editor  of  the  Monthly  Maga- 
zine, seems  forgotten.  But  he  wrote  '  Songs  of  the 
Loire,'  the  '  Gentleman's  Book,'  '  My  Daughter's  Book,' 
the  'Book  for  the  Million,'  and  a  'Volume  of  the 
Affections.'  Mr.  Peter  Gaskill,  another  forgotten  worthy, 
wrote,  besides  his  contributions  to  the  monthly  press, 
three  laudable  works,  called  '  Old  Maids,'  '  Old  Bache- 


212  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

lors,'  and  '  Plebeians  and  Patricians.'  John  Gait,  James 
and  Horace  Smith,  Allan  Cunningham,  Sir  Egertou 
Brydges,  Sheridan  Knowles,  Eobert  Hall,  John  Foster, 
James  Montgomery,  S.  C.  Hall,  Grattan — author  of 
'  Highways  and  Byways ' — Marryat,  John  Mill,  Peacock, 
Miss  Martineau,  Ebenezer  Elliott,  and  Warren — author 
of  *  A  Diary  of  a  Late  Physician  ' — all  very  respectable 
writers,  sustained  this  mass  of  magazine  literature. 

It  will  be  seen,  then,  that  London  was  as  well  sup 
plied  with  papers  and  reviews  as  it  is  at  present — con- 
sidering the  difference  in  population,  it  was  much  better 
supplied.  Outside  London,  however,  the  demand  for 
a  daily  paper  was  hardly  known.  There  were  in  the 
whole  of  Great  Britain  only  fourteen  daily  papers ;  and 
in  Ireland  two.  There  are  now  171  daily  papers  in 
Great  Britain  and  fifteen  in  Ireland  In  country  places, 
the  weekly  newspaper,  pubhshed  on  Saturday  night  and 
distributed  on  Sunday  morning,  provided  all  the  news 
that  was  required,  the  local  intelligence  being  by  far  the 
most  important. 

As  to  the  changes  which  have  come  over  the  papers, 
the  leading  article,  whose  influence  and  weight  seems  to 
have  culminated  at  the  time  of  the  Crimean  War,  was 
then  of  little  more  value  than  it  is  at  present.  The 
news — there  were  as  yet,  happily,  no  telegrams — was 
still  by  despatches  and  advice  ;  and  the  latest  news  of 
markets  was  that  brought  by  the  last  ship.  We  will 
not  waste  time  in  pointing  out  that  Edinburgh  was 
practically  as  far  off  as  Gibraltar,  or  as  anything  else 


JOURNALS  AND  JOURNALISTS  213 

you  please.  But  consider,  if  you  can,  your  morning 
paper  without  its  telegrams  ;  could  one  exist  without 
knowing  exactly  all  that  is  going  on  all  over  the  world 
at  the  very  moment  ?  We  used  to  exist,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  very  well  indeed  without  that  knowledge ;  when 
we  had  it  not  we  were  less  curious,  if  less  well  in- 
formed :  there  was  always  a  pleasing  element  of  un- 
certainty as  to  what  might  arrive  :  everything  had  to 
be  taken  on  trust ;  and  in  trade  the  most  glorious  for- 
tunes could  be  made  and  lost  by  the  beautiful  uncer- 
tainties of  the  market.  Now  we  watch  the  tape,  day 
by  day,  and  hour  by  hour  ;  we  anticipate  our  views : 
we  can  only  speculate  on  small  differences  :  the  biggest 
events  are  felt,  long  beforehand,  to  be  coming.  It  is 
not  an  unmixed  gain  for  the  affairs  of  the  whole  world 
to  be  carried  on  under  the  fierce  hght  of  electricity,  so 
that  everybody  may  behold  whatever  happens  day  after 
day,  as  if  one  were  seated  on  Olympus  among  the  Im- 
mortal Gods. 


214  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTER  XY. 

THE   SPORTSMAN. 

There  were  many  various  forms  of  sport  open  to  the 
Englishman  fifty  years  ago  which  are  now  wholly,  or 
partly,  closed.  For  instance,  there  was  the  P.  E.,  then 
flourishing  in  great  vigour — they  are  at  this  moment 
trying  to  revive  it.  A  prize-fight  was  accompanied  by 
every  kind  of  blackguardism  and  villainy;  not  the  least 
was  the  fact  that  the  fights,  towards  the  end  of  the 
record,  were  almost  always  conducted  on  the  cross,  so 
that  honest  betting  men  never  knew  where  to  lay  their 
money.  At  the  same  time,  the  decay  of  boxing  during 
the  last  twenty-five  years  has  been  certainly  followed  by 
a  great  decay  of  the  national  pluck  and  pugnacity,  and 
therefore,  naturally,  by  a  decay  of  national  enter- 
prise. We  may  fairly  congratulate  ourselves,  therefore, 
that  the  noble  art  of  self-defence  is  reviving,  and 
promises  to  become  as  great  and  favourite  a  sport  as 
before.  Let  all  our  boys  be  taught  to  fight.  Fifty  years 
ago  there  was  not  a  day  in  a  public  school  when  there 
was  not  a  fight  between  two  of  the  boys  ;  there  was 
not  a  day  when  there  was  not  a  street  fight ;  did  not 


THE  SPORTSMAN  215 

the  mail-coach  drivers  who  accompanied  Mr.  Samuel 
Weller  on  a  memorable  occasion  leave  behind  them  one 
of  their  number  to  fight  a  street  porter  in  Fleet  Street  ? 
There  was  never  a  day  when  some  young  fellow  did  not 
take  off  his  coat  and  handle  his  fives  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  with  a  drayman,  a  driver,  a  Avorldng  man.  It 
was  a  disgrace  not  to  be  able  to  fight.  Let  all  our  boys 
be  taught  again  and  encouraged  to  fight.  Only  the 
other  day  I  read  that  there  are  no  fights  at  Eton  any 
more  because  the  boys  '  funk  each  other.'  Eton  boys 
funk  each  other  !  But  we  need  not  believe  it.  Let  there 
be  no  nonsense  listened  to  about  brutality.  The  world 
belongs  to  the  men  who  can  fight. 

There  were,  besides  the  street  fights,  which  kept 
things  lively  and  gave  animation  to  the  dullest  parts  of 
the  town,  many  other  things  which  we  see  no  longer. 
The  bear  who  danced  :  the  bull  who  was  baited  :  the 
pigeons  which  were  shot  in  Battersea  Fields  :  the  badger 
which  was  drawn  :  the  dogs  which  were  fought :  the 
rats  which  were  killed  :  the  cocks  which  were  fought : 
the  cats  which  were  thrown  into  the  ponds :  the  ducks 
which  were  hunted — these  amusements  exist  no  longer; 
fifty  years  ago  they  afforded  sport  for  many. 

Hunting,  coursing,  horse-racing,  shooting,  went  on 
bravely.  As  regards  game  preserves,  the  laws  were  more 
rigidly  enforced,  and  there  was  a  much  more  bitter 
feeling  towards  them  on  the  part  of  farmers  then  than 
now.  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  no  such  wholesale 
battues  ;  sport  involved  uncertainty  ;  gentlemen  did  not 


2i6  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

sell  their  game ;  rabbits,  instead  of  being  sent  off  to 
the  nearest  poulterer,  were  given  to  the  labourers  as 
they  should  be. 

The  sporting  instincts  of  the  Londoner  gave  the 
comic  person  an  endless  theme  for  fun.  He  was  always 
hiring  a  horse  and  coming  to  grief;  he  was  perpetually 
tumbling  off,  losing  his  stirrups,  letting  his  whip  fall, 
having  his  hat  blown  off  and  carried  away,  and  generally 
disgracing  himself  in  the  eyes  of  those  with  whom  he 
wished  to  appear  to  the  best  advantage.  There  was 
the  Epping  Hunt  on  Easter  Monday,  where  the  sporting 
Londoners  turned  out  in  thousands ;  there  were  the 
ponies  on  hire  at  any  open  place  all  round  London — at 
Clapham  Common,  Blackheath,  Hampstead,  Epping.  To 
ride  was  the  young  Londoner's  greatest  ambition  :  even 
to  this  day  there  is  not  one  young  man  in  ten  who  will 
own  without  a  blush  that  he  cannot  ride.  To  ride  in 
the  Park  was  impossible  for  him,  because  he  had  to  be  at 
his  desk  at  ten ;  a  man  who  rides  in  the  Park  is  inde 
pendent  of  the  City;  but  there  were  occasions  on  which 
everyone  would  long  to  be  able  to  sit  in  the  saddle. 

Eowing,  athletics,  and,  above  all,  the  cycle,  have 
done  much  to  counterbalance  the  attractions  of  the 
saddle. 

It  seems  certain,  unless  the  comic  papers  all  lie,  that 
fifty  years  ago  every  young  man  also  wanted  to  go 
shooting.  Eemember  how  Mr.  Winkle — an  arrant 
Cockney,  though  represented  as  coming  from  Bristol — 
not  only  pretended  to  love  the  sport,  but  always  went 


THE  SPORTSMAN  217 

about  attired  as  one  ready  to  take  the  field.  The 
Londoner  went  out  into  the  fields,  which  then  lay  within 
his  reach  all  round  the  City,  popping  at  everything. 
Let  us  illustrate  the  subject  with  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  a  First  of  September  taken  from  the  'Comic 
Almanack'  of  1837.     Perhaps  Thackeray  wrote  it: — 

'  Up  at  six. — Told  Mrs.  D.  I'd  got  wery  pressing  business  at 
Woolwich,  and  ofi'  to  Old  Fish  Street,  where  a  werry  sporting 
breakfast,  consisting  of  jugged  hare,  partridge  pie,  tally-ho  sauce, 
gunpowder  tea,  and-csetera,  vos  laid  out  in  Figgins's  warehouse  ;  as 
he  didn't  choose  Mrs.  F.  and  his  young  hinfant  family  to  know  he 
vos  a-goin  to  hexpose  himself  vith  fire-harms. — After  a  good  blow- 
out, sallied  forth  vith  our  dogs  and  guns,  namely  Mrs.  Wiggins's 
French  poodle,  Miss  Selina  Higgins's  real  Blenheim  spaniel,  young 
Hicks's  ditto,  Mrs.  Figgins's  pet  bull-dog,  and  my  little  thorough- 
bred tarrier  ;  all  vich  had  been  smuggled  to  Figgins's  warehouse 
the  night  before,  to  perwent  domestic  disagreeables. — Got  into  a 
Paddington  bus  at  the  Bank.  — Row  with  Tiger,  who  hobjected  to 
take  the  dogs,  unless  paid  hextra. — Hicks  said  we'd  a  rights  to  take 
'em,  and  quoted  the  hact. — Tiger  said  the  hact  only  allowed  parcels 
carried  on  the  lap. — Accordingly  tied  up  the  dogs  in  our  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  and  carried  them  and  the  guns  on  our  knees. — Got 
down  at  Paddington  ;  and,  after  glasses  round,  valked  on  till  ve  got 
into  the  fields,  to  a  place  vich  Higgins  had  baited  vith  corn  and 
penny  rolls  every  day  for  a  month  past.  Found  a  covey  of  birds 
feeding.  Dogs  wery  eager,  and  barked  beautiful.  Birds  got  up 
and  turned  out  to  be  pigeons.  Debate  as  to  vether  pigeons  vos 
game  or  not.  Hicks  said  they  vos  made  game  on  by  the  new  hn,ct. 
Fired  accordingly,  and  half  killed  two  or  three,  vich  half  fell  to  the 
ground  ;  but  suddenly  got  up  again  and  flew  off".  Reloaded,  and 
pigeons  came  round  again.  Let  fly  a  second  time,  and  tumbled  two 
or  three  more  over,  but  didn't  bag  any.  Tired  at  last,  and  turned 
in  to  the  Dog  and  Partridge,  to  get  a  snack.  Landlord  laughed, 
and  asked  how  ve  vos  hofi"  for  tumblers.  Didn't  understand  him, 
but  got  some  waluable  hinformation  about  loading  our  guns  ;  vich 
he  strongly  recommended  mixing  the  powder  and  shot  well  up 
together  before  putting  into  the  barrel ;  and  showed  Figgins  how  to 


2i8  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

cliarge  his  percussion  ;  vich  being  Figgins's  first  attempt  under  the 
new  system,  he  had  made  the  mistake  of  putting  a  charge  of  copper 
caps  into  the  barrel  instead  of  sticking  von  of  'em  atop  of  the  touch- 
hole. — Left  the  Dog  and  Partridge,  and  took  a  nortli-easterly 
direction,  so  as  to  have  the  adwantage  of  the  vind  on  our  backs. 
Dogs  getting  wery  riotous,  and  refusing  to  answer  to  Figgins's  vhistle, 
vich  had  unfortunately  got  a  pea  in  it. — Getting  over  an  edge  into 
a  field,  Hicks's  gun  haccidently  hexploded,  and  shot  Wiggins  behind; 
and  my  gun  going  ofi"  hunexpectedly  at  the  same  moment,  singed 
avay  von  of  my  viskers  and  blinded  von  of  my  heyes. — Carried 
Wiggins  back  to  the  inn  :  dressed  his  wound,  and  rubbed  my  heye 
witli  cherry  brandy  and  my  visker  with  bear's  grease. — Sent  poor 
W.  home  by  a  short  stage,  and  resumed  our  sport. — Heard  some 
pheasants  crowing  by  the  side  of  a  plantation.  Resolved  to  stop 
their  cockadoodledooing,  so  set  off  at  a  jog-trot.  Passing  thro'  a 
field  of  bone  manure,  the  dogs  unfortunately  set  to  work  upon  the 
bones,  and  we  couldn't  get  'em  to  go  a  step  further  at  no  price. 
Got  vithin  gun-shot  of  two  of  the  bii'ds,  vich  Higgins  said  they  vos 
two  game  cocks  :  but  Hicks,  who  had  often  been  to  Vestminster 
Pit,  said  no  sitch  thing ;  as  game  cocks  had  got  short  square  tails, 
and  smooth  necks,  and  long  military  spurs  ;  and  these  had  got  long 
curly  tails,  and  necks  all  over  hair,  and  scarce  any  spurs  at  all. 
Shot  at  'em  as  pheasants,  and  believe  we  killed  'em  both  ;  but, 
hearing  some  orrid  screams  come  out  of  the  plantation  immediately 
h  after,  ve  all  took  to  our  'eels  and  ran  avay  vithout  stopping  to 
pick  either  of 'em  up. — After  running  about  two  miles,  Hicks  called 
out  to  stop,  as  he  had  hobserved  a  covey  of  wild  ducks  feeding  on  a 
pond  by  the  road  side.  Got  behind  a  haystack  and  shot  at  the 
ducks,  vich  svam  avay  hunder  the  trees.  Figgins  wolunteered  to 
scramble  down  the  bank,  and  hook  out  the  dead  uns  vith  the  but- 
hend  of  his  gun.  Unfortunately  bank  failed,  and  poor  F.  tumbled 
up  to  his  neck  in  the  pit.  Made  a  rope  of  our  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
got  it  round  his  neck,  and  dragged  him  to  the  Dog  and  Doid)let, 
vera  ve  had  him  put  to  bed,  and  dried.  Werry  sleepy  with  the  hair 
and  hexercise,  so  after  dinner  took  a  nap  a-piece. — Woke  by  the 
landlord  coming  in  to  know  if  ve  vos  the  gentlemen  as  had  shot  the 
liunfortunate  nursemaid  and  child  in  Mr.  Smithville's  plantation. 
Swore  ve  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  vile  the  landlord  was  gone  to 
deliver  our  message,  got  out  of  the  back  vindow,  and  ran  avay 
across  the  fields.     At  the  end  of   a   mUe,  came  suddenly  upon  a 


THE  SPORTSMAN  219 

strange  sort  of  bird,  vich  Ilicks  declared  to  be  the  cock-of-tlie-woods. 
Sneaked  beliind  him  and  killed  him.  Tui'ned  out  to  be  a  peacock. 
Took  to  our  heels  again,  as  ve  saw  the  lord  of  the  manor  and  two  of 
his  servants  vith  bludgeons  coming  down  the  gravel  valk  towards  us. 
Found  it  getting  late,  so  agreed  to  shoot  our  vay  home.  Didn't 
know  vere  ve  vos,  but  kept  going  on. — At  last  got  to  a  sort  of 
plantation,  vere  ve  saw  a  great  many  birds  perching  about.  Gave 
'em  a  broadside,  and  brought  down  several.  Loaded  again,  and 
killed  another  brace.  Thought  ve  should  make  a  good  day's  vork 
of  it  at  last,  and  vas  preparing  to  charge  again,  ven  two  of  the  new 
police  came  and  took  us  up  in  the  name  of  the  Zolorogical  Society, 
in  whose  gardens  it  seems  ve  had  been  shooting.  Handed  off  to  the 
Public  Hoffice,  and  werry  heavily  fined,  and  werry  sewerely  repri- 
manded by  the  sitting  magistrate. — Coming  away,  met  by  the  land- 
lord of  the  Dog  and  Doublet,  who  charged  us  with  running  ofi' 
without  paying  our  shot ;  and  Mr.  Smithville,  who  accused  us  of 
manslaughteruig  his  nurse-maid  and  child  ;  and,  their  wounds  not 
having  been  declared  immortal,  ve  vos  sent  to  spend  the  night  in 
prison — and  thus  ended  my  last  First  of  September.' 

Those  who  wish  to  know  what  a  Derby  Day  was 
fifty  years  ago  may  read  the  followhig  contemporary 
narrative : — 

Here's  a  right  and  true  list  of  all  the  running  horses  !  Dorling's 

correct  card  for  the  Derby  day  ! Hollo,  old  un  !  hand  us  up  one 

here,  will  you  :  and  let  it  be  a  good  un  :  there,  now  what's  to  pay  ? 

Only  sixpence.     Sixpence  !     I  never  gave  more  than  a  penny 

at  Hookem  Snivey  in  all  my  days. May  be  not,  your  honour  ; 

but  Hookem  Snivey  aint  Hepsom  :  and  sixpence  is  what  every 
gemman,  as  is  a  gemman,  pays. 

I  can  buy  'em  for  less  than  that  on  the  course,  and  I'll  wait  till 

I  get  there.     Beg  your  honour's  pardon They  sells  'em  a  shillin' 

on  the  course.  Give  you  threepence.  They  cost  me  fippence  ha'p'ny 
farden. 

Well,    here   then,    take   your  list   back    again.      Come,    come ; 

your  honour  shall  have  it  at  your  own  price  : 1  wouldn't  sell  it 

nob'dy  else  for  no  sitch  money  :  but  I  likes  the  sound  of  your  wice. 

Here,    then,    give  me   the   change,  will   you  ? — Oh,   certainly  : 

but  your  honour's  honcommon  ard  : Let's  see  :  you  want  two- 

21 


2  20  FJFTY   YEARS  AGO 

and-threepcnce  :  wait  a  uiomcnt,  there's  another  gentleman  calling 
out  for  a  card. 

Hollo,    coachman,    stop,  stop  !     Coachman,    do  you  hear  ?    stop 

your  horses  this  moment,  and  let  me  get  down  : The  fellow's  run 

away  behind  an  omnibus  without  giving  me  change  out  of  my  half- 
crown. 

That's  alvays  the  vay  they  does  on  these  here  hoccasions  :  they 

calls  it  catching  a  flat  : Sorry  I   can't  stop.     Where's  the  new 

police  ?    Pretty  police  truly,  to  suffer  such  work  as  that ! 

Well,  if  ever  I  come  to  Epsom  again  !   but  let's  look  at  the  list: 

it's  cost  me  precious  dear  ! Ascot,  Mundig,  Pelops  !  why,  good 

heavens,  coachman  !  they've  sold  me  a  list  for  last  year  ! 

'  Oh,  ma  !    look  there  !  what  a   beautiful  carriage !  scarlet  and 

gold   liveries,  and   horses   with   long  tails. And   stodge-full   of 

gentlemen  with  mustaches,  and  cigars  and  macintoshes,  and  green 
veils  : 

Whose  is  it,  ma  ?    Don't  know,  my  dear  ;  but  no  doubt  belongs 

to  some  duke,  or  marquis,  or  other  great  nob. Beg  your  pardon, 

ma'am  :  but  that  carriage  as  you're  looking  at  is  a  party  of  the  swell 
mob. 

And,  oh  my  !  ma  :  look  at  that  other,  full  of  beautiful  ladies, 

dressed  like  queens  and  princesses. Silks  and  satins  and  velvets, 

and  gauze  sleeves  and  ermine  tippets  :  I  never  saw  such  elegant 
dresses  : 

And  how  merry  they  look,  laughing  and  smiling  !  they  seem  de- 
termined to  enjoy  the  sport  : Who  are  they,  ma  %     Don't  know, 

dear  ;  but  no  doubt  they're  Court  ladies.  Yes,  ma'am,  Cranbourne 
Court. 

How  do.  Smith  ?    nice  sort  of  tit  you've  got  there.     Very  nice 

indeed  :    very  nice  sort  of  mare. Beautiful  legs  she's  got,  and 

nicely-turned  ancles,  and  'pon  my  word,  a  most  elegant  head  of  hair. 

How  old  is  she  ?    and  how  high  does  she  stand?     I  should  like 

to  buy  her  if  she's  for  sale. Oh,  she's  quite  young  :  not  above 

five-and-twenty  or  thirty  ;  and  her  height  exactly  a  yard  and  a  half 
and  a  nail  : 

Price  eighty  guineas.     She'd  be  just  the  thing  for  you  ;  capital 

hunter  as  ever  appeared  at  a  fixture. Only  part  with  her  on 

account  of  her  colour  ;  not  that  /  mind  :  only  Mrs.  S.  don't  like  an 
Oxford  mixture. 

Hehlo  !  you  faylow  !  you  person  smoking  the  pipe,  I  wish  you'd 


THE  SPORTSMAN  221 

take  your  quadruped  out  of  the  way. Quadruped,  eh  %   you  be 

blowed  !  it's  no  quadruped,  but  as  good  a  donkey  as  ever  was  fed 
upon  hay. 

Oh,  my  !  ma  :    there's   the   course.     What  lots  of   people,  and 

horses,  and  booths,  and  grand  stands  ! And  what  oceans  of  gipsies 

and  jugglers,  and  barrel  organs,  and  military  bands  ! 

And  was   ever   such  sights   of   Savoyards   and  French  women 

singing  and  E-0-tables  ; And  horses  rode  up  and  down  by  little 

boys,  or  tied  together  in  bundles,  and  put  up  in  calimanco  stables  ; 

And  look  at  that  one,  they  call  him  Boney-Tparte.     Did  you  ever 

in  all  your  lifetime  see  a  leaner  1 And  '  Royal  Dinner  Saloons  ' 

(for  royalty  the  knives  might  have  been  a  little  brighter,  and  tlie 
'inen  a  little  cleaner); 

And  women  with  last-dying  speeches  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 

other  all  the  best  new  comic  songs  ; And,  dear  me  !  how  funnily 

that  gentleman  sits  his  horse  ;  for  all  the  world  just  like  a  pair  of 
tongs. 

And — clear  the  course  !    clear  the  course  !    Oh,  dear  !    now  the 

great  Derby  race  is  going  to  be  run. ^  Twelve  to  one  !    Ten  to 

one  !  Six  to  one  !  Nine  to  two  !  Sixteen  to  three  !  Done,  done, 
done,  done  ! 

Here  they  come !    here  they  come  !    blue,  green,  buff,  yellow, 

black,    brown,    white,    harlequin,    and  red  ! Sir,    I   wish   you'd 

stand  off  our  carriage  steps  :  it's  quite  impossible  to  see  through  your 
head. 

There,    now   they're   gone  :    how   many    times   round  1     Times 

round,  eh  ?  why,  bless  your  innocent  face  ! It's  all  over.     All 

over  !  you  don't  say  so  !  I  "wish  I'd  never  come  :  such  a  take  in  ! 
call  that  a  Derby  race  ! 

After  being  stifled  with  dust  almost,  and  spoiling  all  our  best 

bonnets  and  shawls  and  cloaks  ! Call  that  a  Derby  race,  indeed  ! 

I'm  sure  it's  no  Derby,  but  nothing  but  a  right-down,  regular  Oaks. 

But  come,  let's  have  a  bit   of   lunch ;  I'm  as   hungry  as  if  I 

hadn't  had  a  bit  all  day. Smith,  what  are  you  staring  at  1  why 

don't  you  make  haste,  and  hand  us  the  hamper  this  way  ? 

We  shall  never  have  anything  to  eat  all  day  if  you  don't  stir 

yourself,  and  not  go  on  at  that  horrid  slow  rate. 'Oh,  Lord  !  the 

bottom's  out,  and  every  bit  of  meat  and  drink,  and  worse  than  all, 
the  knives  and  forks  and  plate, — 

Stole  and  gone  clean  away  !  Good  heavenlies  !  and  I  told  you 
21'^ 


222  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

to  keep  your  eye  on  the  basket,  you    stupid  lout ! Well,   so  1 

did,  on  the  to}:)  of  it,  but  who'd  have  thought  of  their  taking  the 
bottom  out  ? 

Well,   never  mind  :    they'll  be   prettily    disappointed  :    for  you 

know,  betwixt  you  and  mc  and  the  wall, Our  ivory  knives  and 

forks  were  nothing  but  bone  ;  and  our  plate  nothing  but  German 
silver,  after  all. 

What  race  is  to  be  run  next?  No  more,  ma'am  :  the  others 
were  all  run  afore  you  come. — —Well,  then,  have  the  horses  put 
to.  Smith  :  I'll  never  come  a  Derbying  again  ;  and  let  us  be  otf 
Lome. 

Oh,  lawk  !    what  a  stodge  of  carriages  !  I'm  sure  we  shall  never 

get  off  the  course  alive  ! Oh,  dear  !  do  knock  that  young  drunken 

sentleman  off  the  box  :  I'm  sure  he's  not  in  a  fit  state  to  drive. 

There,  I  told  you  how  it  would  be.     Oh,  law  !    you've  broke  my 

arm,  and  compound-fractured  my  leg  ! Oh  !  for   'eaven's  sake, 

lift  them  two  'orrid  osses  off  my  darter  !  Sir,  take  your  hands  out 
of  my  pocket-hole,  I  beg  ! 

I  say,  the  next  time  you  crawl  out  of  a  coach  window,  I  wish 

you  wouldn't  put  your  foot  on  a  lady's  chest, Veil,  if  ever  I  seed 

such  a  purl  as  that  (and  I've  seed  many  a  good  un  in  my  time),  I'll 
be  blest. 

Oh,  dear  !  going  home's  worse  than  coming  !  It's  ten  to  one  if 
ever  we  get  back  to  Tooley  Street  alive. — Such  jostling,  and  pushing, 
and  prancing  of  horses  !  and  always  the  tipsiest  gentleman  of  every 
party  will  drive. 

I  wish  I  was  one  of  those  ladies  at  the  windows  ;  or  even  one 

of  the  servant  maids  giggling  behind  the  garden  walls. And  oh  ! 

there's  Kennington  turnpike !  what  shouting  and  hooting,  and 
blowing  those  horrid  cat-calls  ! 

Ticket,  sir  %    got  a  ticket  ?    No,  I've  lost  it.     A  shilling,  then. 

A   shilling  !    I've   paid   you  once   to-day. Oh,    yes,  I    suppose 

so  :  the  old  tale  ;  but  it  won't  do.  That's  what  all  you  sporting 
gentlemen  say. 

Hinsolent  feller !  I'll  have  you  up  before  your  betters.  Come, 
sir,  you  mustn't  stop  up  the  way.  Well,  I'll  pay  you  again  ;  but, 
oh   Lord  !  somebody's  stole  my  purse  !  good  gracious,  what  shall  I 

do  ! 1  suppose  I  must  leave  my  watch,  and  call  for  it  to-morrow. 

Oh,  ruination  !  blow'd  if  that  isn't  gone  too  ! 

Get  on  thei-e,  will  you  ? — Well,  stop  a  moment.     Will  anybody 


THE  SPORTSMAN  223 

lend  me  a  shilling  %    No  %    Well,  here  then,  take  my  hat : But  if 

I  don't  show  you  up  in  BelVs  Life  in  London,  next  Sunday  morning, 
my  name's  not  Timothy  Flat. 

Well,  this  is  my  last  journey  to  Epsom,  my  last  appearance  on 

any  course  as  a  backer  or  hedger  : For  I  see  plain  enough  a 

betting-book  aint  a  day-book,  and  a  Derby's  a  very  different  thing 
from  a  Ledger. 


224  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


•    CHAPTER  XVI 

IN   FACTORY    AND    MINE. 

I  DO  not  know  any  story,  not  even  that  of  the  slave- 
trade,  which  can  compare,  for  brutahty  and  callousness 
of  heart,  with  the  story  of  the  women  and  children 
employed  in  the  factories  and  the  mines  of  this  realm. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  whole  history  of  mankind  which 
shows  more  clearly  the  enormities  which  become  possible 
when  men,  spurred  by  desire  for  gain,  are  left  uncon- 
trolled by  laws  or  the  weight  of  public  opinion,  and 
placed  in  the  position  of  absolute  mastery  over  their 
fellow-men.  The  record  of  the  slavery  time  is  black  in 
the  West  Indies  and  the  United  States,  God  knows ;  but 
the  record  of  the  English  mine  and  factory  is  blacker 
still.  It  is  so  black  that  it  seems  incredible  to  us.  We 
ask  ourselves  in  amazement  if,  fifty  years  ago,  these 
things  could  be.  Alas !  my  friends,  there  are  cruelties 
as  great  still  going  on  around  us  in  every  great  city, 
and  wherever  women  are  forced  to  work  for  bread. 
For  the  women  and  the  children  are  inarticulate,  and 
in  the  dark  places,  where  no  lif^ht  of  publicity  pene- 
trates, the  hand  of  the  master  is  nrmed  with  a  scoume 


IN  FACTORY  AND  MINE 


225 


(l<"rom  a  Plate  in  the  VTest- 
nxinsler  Review) 


of  scorpions.  Let  us  therefore  humble  ourselves,  and 
read  the  story  of  the  children  in  the  mines  with  shame 
as  well  as  with  indignation.  The  cry  of  the  needle- 
women is  louder  in  our  ears  than  the  cry  of  the  chil- 
dren in  the  mines 
ever  was  to  our 
•fathers  ;  yet  we 
regard  it  not. 

Fellow  -  sinners 
and  partakers  in 
the  crimes  of 
slavery,  torture, 
and  robbery  of 
light,  life,  3^outh, 
and  joy,  liear  the  tale  of  the  Factory 
and  the  Mine. 

Early  in  the  century — in  the 
year  1801 — the  overcrowding  of 
the  factories  and  mills,  the  neglect 
of  the  simj^lest  sanitary  precautions, 
the  long  hours,  the  poor  food,  and 
insufficient  rest,  caused  the  outbreak  of  a  dreadful 
epidemic  fever,  Avhich  alarmed  even  the  mill-owners, 
because  if  they  lost  their  hands  they  lost  their  ma- 
chinery. The  hands  are  the  producers,  and  the  aim 
of  the  masters  was  to  regard  the  producers  as  so  many 
machines.  Now  if  your  machine  is  laid  low  with  fever 
it  is  as  good  as  an  engine  out  of  repair. 

For  the  first  time  in  history,  not  only  was  the  public 


2  26  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

conscience  awakened,  but  the  House  of  Commons  was 
called  upon  to  act  in  the  interests  of  health,  public 
morals,  humanity,  and  justice.  Strange,  that  the  world 
had  been  Christian  for  so  long,  yet  no  law  had  been 
passed  to  protect  women  and  children.  In  the  Year  of 
Grace  1802  a  beginning  was  made. 

By  the  Act  then  passed  the  daily  hours  of  labour 
for  children  were  to  be  not  more  than  twelve — yet 
think  of  making  young  children  work  for  twelve  hours 
a  day  ! — exclusive  of  an  hour  and  a  half  for  meals  and 
rest,  so  that  the  working  day  really  covered  thirteen 
hours  and  a  half,  say  from  six  in  the  morning  until 
half-past  seven  in  the  evening.  This  seems  a  good  day's 
work  to  exact  of  children,  but  it  was  a  little  heaven 
compared  with  the  state  of  things  which  preceded  the 
Act.  ISText,  no  children  were  to  be  employed  under 
the  age  of  nine.  Certain  factories,  proved  to  be  un- 
wholesome for  children,  were  closed  to  them  altogether. 
Twenty  years  later  Sir  John  Cam  Hobhouse — may  his 
soul  find  peace ! — invented  the  Saturday  half-holiday 
for  factories.  There  was  found,  however,  a  loophole 
for  cruelty  and  overwork  ;  the  limitation  of  hours  was 
evaded  by  making  the  hands  work  in  relays,  by  which 
means  a  cliild  might  be  kept  at  work  half  the  night. 
It  was,  therefore,  in  1833  enacted  that  there  should  be 
no  work  done  at  all  between  8.30  p.m.  and  5.30  a.m.: 
that  children  under  thirteen  should  not  work  more  than 
forty-eight  hours  a  week,  and  those  under  eighteen 
should  not  work  more  than  sixty-eight  hours  a  week. 


J     (T-     C^U^l 


IN  FACTORY  AND  MINE  227 

Observe  that  nothing — not  the  light  of  publicity, 
not  public  opinion,  not  common  humanity,  not  pity 
towards  the  tender  children — nothing  but  Law  had  any 
power  to  stop  this  daily  massacre  of  the  innocents. 
Yet,  no  doubt,  the  manufacturers  were  subscribing  for 
all  kinds  of  good  objects,  and  reviling  the  Yankees  con- 
tinually for  the  institution  of  Slavery. 

What  happened  next  ?  Greed  of  gain,  seeing  the 
factory  closed,  looked  round,  and  saw  wide  open — not 
the  gates  of  Hell — but  the  mouth  of  the  Pit,  and  they 
flunsr  the  children  down  into  the  darkness,  and  made 
them  work  among  the  narrow  passages  and  galleries  of 
the  coal  mines. 

They  took  the  child — boy  or  girl — at  six  years  of 
age ;  they  carried  the  little  thing  away  from  the  Hght 
of  heaven,  and  lowered  it  deep  down  into  the  black  and 
gloomy  pit;  they  placed  it  behind  a  door,  and  ordered 
it  to  pull  this  open  to  let  the  corves,  or  trucks,  come 
and  go,  and  to  keep  it  shut  when  they  were  not  passing. 
The  child  was  set  at  the  door  in  the  dark — at  first  they 
gave  it  a  candle,  which  would  burn  for  an  hour  or  two 
and  then  go  out.  Think  of  taking  a  child  of  six — your 
child,  Madam ! — and  putting  it  all  alone  down  the  dark 
mine !  They  kept  the  little  creature  there  for  twelve 
interminable  hours.  If  the  child  cried,  or  went  to  sleep, 
or  neglected  to  pull  the  door  open,  they  beat  that  child. 
The  work  began  at  four  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  not 
brought  out  of  the  pit  until  four,  or  perhaps  later,  in  the 
evenintr,  so  that  in  the  winter  the  children  never  saw 


228  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

da5'li""ht  at  all.  The  evidence  given  before  the  Eoyal 
C(.)niniission  showed  that  the  children,  when  they  were 
brought  up  to  the  pit's  mouth,  were  heavy  and  stupefied, 
and  cared  for  little  when  they  had  taken  their  supper 
but  to  go  to  bed.  And  yet  the  men  who  owned  these 
coUieries  had  children  of  their  own  !  And  they  would 
have  gone  on  to  this  very  day  starving  the  children  of 
hght  and  loading  tliem  with  work,  stunting  their 
growth,  and  suffering  them  to  grow  up  in  ignorance 
all  their  days,  but  for  Lord  Shaftesbury.  This  is  what 
is  written  of  the  children  and  their  work  by  one  who 
visited  the  mines: — 

To  ascertain  the  nature  of  the  employment  of  these  cliilclren,  I 
went  down  a  pit.  .  .  .  Descending  a  shaft,  600  feet  deep,  T  went 
some  distance  along  a  subterranean  road  which,  I  was  told,  was 
three  miles  in  length.  To  the  right  and  left  of  one  of  these  roads 
or  ways  are  low  galleries,  called  workings,  in  which  the  hewers  are 
employed,  in  a  state  of  almost  perfect  nudity,  on  account  of  the 
great  heat,  digging  out  the  coal.  To  these  galleries  there  are  traps, 
or  doors,  which  are  kept  shut,  to  guard  against  the  ingress  or  egress 
of  inflammable  air,  and  to  prevent  counter-currents  disturbing  the 
ventilation.  The  use  of  a  child,  six  years  of  age,  is  to  open  and 
shut  one  of  these  doors  when  the  loaded  corves,  or  coal  trucks,  pass 
and  repass.  For  this  object  the  child  is  trained  to  sit  by  itself  in  a 
dark  gallery  for  the  number  of  hours  I  have  described.  The  older 
boys  drive  horses  and  load  the  corves,  but  the  little  children  are 
always  trap-keepers.  When  first  taken  down  they  have  a  candle 
given  them,  but,  gradually  getting  accustomed  to  the  gloom  of  the 
place,  they  have  to  do  ^vithout,  and  sit  therefore  literally  in  the  dark 
the  whole  time  of  their  imprisonment. 

When  a  child  grew  strong  enough,  he  or  she — 
boy  or  girl — was  promoted  to  the  post  of  drawer,  or 
thrutcher.     The  drawer,  boy  or  girl  alike,  clad  in  a 


IN  FACTORY  AND  MINE 


22Q 


short  pair  of  trousers  and  nothing  else,  had  a  belt  tied 
round  the  waist  and  a  chain  attached  by  one  end  to 
the  belt  and  the  other  to  the  corve,  or  truck,  which 
he  dragged  along  the  galleries  to  the  place  where  it 
was  loaded  for  the  mouth,  the  chain  passing-between 
his  legs ;  on  account  of  the  low  height  of  the  galleries 
he  had  generally  to  go  on  all-fours.  Those  who  were 
the  thrutchers  pushed  the  truck  along  with  their  heads 
and  hands.      They  wore   a  thick  cap,  but  the  work 


"  ^^     \    fi''  I  \v     %  ^  ^^'^^       ^ 3  1 


CHILDEEN   WORKING    IN    A  COAL   MINE 

(From  a  Plate  iu  the  Westminster  Review') 


made  them  bald  on  the  top  of  the  head.  When  the 
boys  grew  up  they  became  hewers,  but  the  women,  if 
they  stayed  in  the  pit,  remained  drawers  or  thrutchers, 
continuing  to  the  end  of  the  day  to  push  or  drag  the 
truck  dressed  in  nothing  but  the  pair  of  short  trousers. 
This  w^s  a  beautiful  kind  of  life  for  Christian  women 
and  children  to  be  leadmg.  So  many  children  were 
wanted,  that  in  one  colliery  employing  400  hands  there 
were  100  under  twenty  and  56  under  thirteen.  In 
another,  where  there  was  an  inundation,  there  were  44 


230  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

children,  of  whom  26  were  drowned;  of  these  11  were 
girls  and  15  boys  ;  9  were  under  ten  years  of  age. 
Again,  in  the  year  1838,  there  were  38  children  under 
thirteen  killed  by  colliery  accidents  and  62  young  people 
under  ei^'liteen. 

When  men  talk  about  the  interference  of  the  State 
and  the  regulation  of  hours,  let  us  always  remember  this 
history  of  the  children  in  the  Pit.  Yet  there  were  men 
in  plenty  who  denounced  the  action  of  the  Government : 
some  of  them  were  leaders  in  the  philanthropic  world ; 
some  of  them  were  religious  men  :  some  of  them  humane 
men  ;  but  they  could  not  bear  to  think  that  any  limit 
should  be  imposed  upon  the  power  of  the  employer. 
In  point  of  fact,  when  one  considers  the  use  which  the 
employer  has  always  made  of  his  power,  how  every 
consideration  has  been  always  set  aside  which  might 
interfere  with  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  it  seems  as  if 
the  chief  business  of  the  Legislature  should  be  the 
protection  of  the  employed. 

Again,  take  the  story  of  the  chimney-sweep.  Fifty 
years  ago  the  master  went  his  morning  rounds  accom- 
panied by  his  climbing  boys.  It  is  difficult  now  to 
understand  how  much  time  and  trouble  it  took  to 
convince  people  that  the  climbing  boy  was  made  to 
endure  an  extraordinary  amount  of  suffering  quite 
needlessly,  because  a  brush  would  do  the  work  quite 
as  well.  Consider :  the  poor  httle  wretch's  hands, 
elbows,  and  knees  were  constantly  being  torn  by  the 
bricks ;    sometimes    he    stuck    going    up,    sometimes 


IN  FACTORY  AND  MINE 


231 


coming  down ;  sometimes  the  chimney-pot  at  the  top 
fell  off,  the  child  with  it,  so  that  he  was  killed.  He 
was  beaten  and  kicked  unmercifully  ;  his  master  would 
sometimes  light  a  fire  underneath  so  as  to  force  him  to 


/a 

LONDON    STREET    CHAEACTEBS,    1837 
(From  a  Drawing  by  John  Leech) 

come  down  quickly.     The  boy's  life  was  intolerable  to 

him.      He  was  badly  fed,   badly  clothed,   and    never 

washed,    though    his    occupation  demanded   incessant 

cleanliness — the  neglect  of  which  was  certain  to  bring 

on  a  most  dreadful  disease.     And  all  this  because  his 
99 


232  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

master  would  not  use  a  broom.  It  was  not  until  1841 
that  the  children  were  protected  by  Acts  of  Parliament. 
The  men  have  shown  themselves  able  to  protect 
themselves.  The  improvement  in  their  position  is  due 
wholly  to  their  own  combination.  That  it  will  still  more 
improve  no  one  can  for  a  moment  doubt.  If  we  were 
asked  to  forecast  the  future,  one  thing  would  be  safe  to 
prophesy — namely,  that  it  will  become,  day  by  day, 
increasingly  difficult  to  get  rich.  Meanwhile,  let  us 
remember  that  we  have  with  us  still  the  women  and 
the  children,  who  cannot  combine.  We  ham  'protected 
the  latter ;  how — oh !  my  brothers — how  shall  we  protect 
the  former? 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

WITH    TUE    MEN   OF   SCIENCE. 

On  the  science  of  fifty  years  ago,  much  might  be  written 
but  for  a  single  reason — namely,  that  I  know  very  little 
indeed  about  the  condition  of  science  in  that  remote 
period,  and  very  little  about  science  of  to-day.  There 
were  no  telegraph  wires,  but  there  were  semaphores 
talking  to  each  other  all  day  long ;  there  was  no  prac- 
tical application  of  electricity  at  all ;  there  was  no  tele- 
phone— I  wish  there  were  none  now ;  there  were  no 
anaesthetics ;  there  were  no — but  why  go  on  ?  Schools 
had  no  Science  Masters  ;  universities  no  Science  Tripos  ; 
Professors  of  Science  were  a  feeble  folk.  I  can  do  no 
better  for  this  chapter  than  to  reproduce  a  report  of  a 
Scientific  Meeting  first  published  in  Tilt's  Annual,  to 
which  Hood,  Thackeray,  and  other  eminent  professors 
of  science  contributed,  for  the  year  1836  : — 

Extracts  from  the  Proceedings  op  the  Association  of  British 
Illuminati,  at  their  Annual  Meeting,  held  in  Dublin, 
August,  1835. 

Dr.  Hoaxum  read  an  interesting  paper  on  the  conversion  of 
moonbeams  into  substance,  and  rendering  shadows  permanent,  both 
of  which  he  had  recently  exemplified  in  the  establishment  of  some 
public  companies,  whose  prospectuses  he  laid  upon  the  table. 


234  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

Mr.  Babble  produced  his  calculating  machine,  and  its  wonderful 
powers  were  tested  in  many  ways  by  the  audience.  It  supplied  to 
Captain  Sir  John  North  an  accurate  computation  of  the  distance 
between  a  quarto  volume  and  a  cheesemonger's  shop  ;  and  solved  a 
curious  question  as  to  the  decimal  proportions  of  cunning  and 
credulity,  which,  worked  by  the  rule  of  allegation,  would  produce  a 
product  of  10,000^. 

Professor  Von  Hammer  described  his  newly  discovered  process 
for  breaking  stones  by  an  algebraic  fraction. 

Mr.  Crowsfoot  read  a  paper  on  the  natural  history  of  the  Rook. 
He  defended  their  caws  with  great  effect,  and  proved  that  there  is 
not  a  grain  of  truth  in  the  charges  against  them,  which  only  arise 
from  Gruh  Street  malice. 

The  Eev.  Mr.  Groper  exhibited  the  skin  of  a  toad,  which  he  dis- 
covered alive  in  a  mass  of  sandstone.  The  animal  was  found  engaged 
on  its  autobiography,  and  died  of  fright  on  having  its  house  so 
suddenly  broken  into,  being  probably  of  a  nervous  habit  from 
passing  so  much  time  alone.  Some  extracts  from  its  memoir  were 
read,  and  found  exceedingly  interesting.  Its  thoughts  on  the  '  silent 
system '  of  prison  discipline,  though  written  in  the  dark,  strictly 
agreed  with  those  of  our  most  enlightened  political  economists. 

Dr.  Deady  read  a  scientific  paper  on  the  manufacture  of  Hydro 
gin,  which  greatly  interested  those  of  the   association  who  were 
members  of  Temperance  Societies. 

Mr.  Croak  laid  on  the  table  an  essay  from  the  Cabinet  Makers' 
Society,  on  the  construction  oi  frog-stools. 

Professor  Parley  exhibited  his  speaking  machine,  which  distinctly 
articulated  the  words  '  Repale  I  Repale  1 '  to  the  great  delight  of 
many  of  the  audience.  The  learned  Professor  stated  that  he  was 
engaged  on  another,  for  the  use  of  his  Majesty's  Ministers,  which 
would  already  say,  '  My  Lords  and  Gentlemen  ; '  and  he  doubted  not, 
by  the  next  meeting  of  Parliament,  would  be  able  to  pronounce  the 
whole  of  the  opening  speech. 

Mr.  Multiply  produced,  and  explained  the  principle  of,  his  ex- 
aggerating machine.  He  displayed  its  amazing  powers  on  the 
mathematical  point,  which,  with  little  trouble,  was  made  to  appear 
as  large  as  a  coach-wheel.  He  demonstrated  its  utility  in  all  the  rela- 
tions of  society,  as  applied  to  the  failings  of  the  absent — the  growth 
of  a  tale  of  scandal — the  exploits  of  travellers,  &c.  &c. 

The  Author  of  the  *  Pleasures  of  Hope '  presented,  through  a 


WITH  THE  MEN  OF  SCIENCE  235 

member,  a  very  amusing  Essay  on  the  gratification  arising  from  the 
throttling  of  crying  children  ;  but  as  the  ladies  would  not  leave  the 
room,  it  could  not  be  read. 

Captain  North  exhibited  some  shavings  of  the  real  Pole,  and  a 
small  bottle  which,  he  asserted,  contained  scintillations  of  the  Aurora 
Borealis,  from  which,  he  stated,  he  had  succeeded  in  extracting  pure 
gold.  He  announced  that  his  nephew  was  preparing  for  a  course  of 
similar  experiments,  of  which  he  expected  to  know  the  result  in 
October.  The  gallant  Captain  then  favoured  the  company  with  a 
dissertation  on  phrenology,  of  which,  he  said,  he  had  been  a  believer 
for  thirty  years.  He  stated  that  he  had  made  many  valuable 
verifications  of  that  science  on  the  skulls  of  the  Esquimaux ;  and 
that,  in  his  recent  tour  in  quest  of  subscribers  to  his  book,  his  great 
success  had  been  mainly  attributable  to  his  phrenological  skill  ;  for 
that,  whenever  he  had  an  opportunity  of  feeling  for  soft  places  in 
the  heads  of  the  public,  he  knew  in  a  moment  whether  he  should 
get  a  customer  or  not.  He  said  that  whether  in  the  examination  of 
ships'  heads  or  sheep's  heads — in  the  choice  of  horses  or  housemaids, 
he  had  found  the  science  of  pre-eminent  utility.  He  related  the 
following  remarkable  phrenological  cases  : — A  man  and  woman 
were  executed  in  Scotland  for  murder  on  presumptive  evidence  ; 
but  another  criminal  confessed  to  the  deed,  and  a  reprieve  arrived 
the  day  after  the  execution.  The  whole  country  was  horrified ";  but 
Captain  North  having  examined  their  heads,  he  considered,  from 
the  extraordinary  size  of  their  destructive  organs,  that  the  sentence 
was  prospectively  just,  for  they  must  have  become  murderers,  had 
t]iey  escaped  hanging  then.  Their  infant  child,  of  six  months  old, 
was  brought  to  him,  and,  perceiving  on  its  head  the  same  fatal 
tendencies,  he  determined  to  avert  the  evil  ;  for  which  purpose,  by 
means  of  a  pair  of  moulds,  he  so  compressed  the  skull  in  its 
vicious  propensities,  and  enlarged  it  in  its  virtuous  ones,  that  the 
child  grew  up  a  model  of  perfection.  The  second  instance  was  of  a 
married  couple,  whose  lives  were  a  continued  scene  of  discord  till 
they  parted.  On  examining  their  heads  scientifically,  he  discovered 
the  elementary  causes  of  their  unhappiness.  Their  skulls  were  un- 
fortunately too  thick  to  be  treated  as  in  the  foregoing  case  ;  but, 
causing  both  their  heads  to  be  shaved,  he  by  dint  of  planing  down 
in  some  places,  and  laying  on  padding  in  others,  contrived  to  produce 
all  the  requisite  phrenological  developments,  and  they  were  then 
living,  a  perfect  pattern  of  conjugal  felicity,  '  a  thing  which  could 


236  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

not  have  happened  without  phrenology.'  (This  dissertation  was 
received  with  loud  applauses  from  the  entire  assembly,  whose  phreno- 
logical organs  becoming  greatly  excited,  and  developed  in  an 
amazing  degree  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  subject,  they  all  fell  to 
examining  each  other's  bumps  with  such  eagerness  that  the  meeting 
dissolved  in  confusion.) 


CHAPTEE  XVin. 

LAW   AND   JUSTICE. 

Five  thousand  three  hundred  and  forty-four  enact- 
ments have  been  added  to  the  Statute  Book  since  the 
Queen  came  to  the  throne,  and  the  figures  throw  a 
itlood  of  hght  upon  the  '  progress '  of  the  Victorian  era. 
In  order  to  reahse  where  we  were  in  1837  we  have 
only  to  obhterate  this  enormous  mass  of  legislation 
In  the  realm  of  law  there  seems  then  to  be  little  left. 
All  our  procedure — equitable,  legal,  and  criminal — much 
of  the  substance  of  equity,  law,  and  justice,  as  we  un- 
derstand the  words,  is  gone.  '  Law  'had  a  different 
meaning  fifty  years  ago;  '  equity '  hardly  had  any  mean- 
ing at  all ;  'justice '  had  an  ugly  sound. 

The  '  local  habitation'  of  the  Courts,  it  is  true,  was 
then  much  the  same  as  it  remained  for  the  next  forty- 
five  years.  The  network  of  gloomy  little  rooms,  con- 
nected with  narrow  winding  passages,  which  Sir  John 
Soane  built  in  1820-1825,  on  the  west  side  of  West- 
minster Hall,  on  the  site  of  the  old  Exchequer  Cham- 
ber, with  an  exterior  in  imitation  of  Palladio's  basilica 
at  Vicenza,  but  outrageously  out  of  keeping  with  the 


238  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

glorious  vestibule  of  William  Rufus,  was  tlien  tlie  home 
of  law.  The  Court  of  Chancery  met  in  a  gloomy  httle 
apartment  near  the  southern  end  of  the  hall.  Here  the 
Lord  Chancellor  sat  in  term  time — there  were  then 
four  terms  of  three  weeks  each — with  the  mace  and 
crimson  silk  bag,  embroidered  with  gold,  in  which  was 
deposited  the  silver  pair  of  dies  of  the  Great  Seal, 
and  a  large  nosegay  of  flowers  before  him.  It  was, 
in  those  days,  only  in  the  vacations  that  the  Chancellor 
sat  at  Lincoln's  Inn.  The  Master  of  the  Rolls  and  the 
Vice-Chancellor  of  England  also  sat  at  Westminster 
during  the  sittinjcs,  while  in  the  intervals  the  former 
presided  over  the  Rolls  Court  in  Rolls  Yard  and  the 
latter  over  the  Court  which  had  been  built  for  him  on 
the  west  side  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Hall.  The  three  Com- 
mon Law  Courts,  moreover,  during  term  time,  sat  twelve 
days  at  Westminster  and  twelve  days  at  the  Guildhall, 
while  the  Assizes  were  chiefly  held  during  the  vacations. 
The  High  Court  of  Admiralty  held  its  sittings  at 
Doctors'  Commons,  in  both  the  Instance  Court  and 
the  Prize  Court,  practically  throughout  the  legal  year, 
and  so  did  the  Ecclesiastical  Courts.  The  Bankruptcy 
Court  was  in  BasinghaU  Street ;  the  Insolvent  Debtors' 
Court  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  with  an  entrance  from 
Portugal  Street.  There  were  then  no  County  Courts. 
The  ancient  Hundred  and  County  Courts,  with  their 
primitive  procedure,  had  long  been  disused.  Certain 
*  Courts  of  Conscience '  or  '  Courts  of  Request '  had, 
it  is  true,  been  established  for  particular  localities  at 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE 


239 


the  express  request  of  the  inhabitants,  and  these  were 
still  being  constituted  in  some  of  the  large  towns.  Then 
in  London  there  were  local  Courts  with  a  pecuhar  juris- 
diction, such  as  the  City  Courts,  which  would  fill  a 
chapter  by  themselves,  and  of  which  it  is  enough  to 


MARSHALSEA — THE    COUETYAilD 


name  the  Lord  Mayor's  Court,  the  Sheriff's  Courts  of 
Poultry  Compter  and  Giltspur  Street  Compter,  both 
afterwards  merged  into  the  City  of  Lx)ndon  Court.  In 
Great  Scotland  Yard  there  was  the  Palace  Court,  with 
the   Knight   Marshal   for  judge,  which  anciently  had 


240  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

exclusive  jurisdiction  in  matters  connected  with  the 
Eoyal  Household,  but  now  was  a  minor  court  of 
record  for  actions  for  debt  within  Westminster  and 
twelve  miles  round.  The  Court  had  its  own  prison  in 
High  Street,  Southwark — the  Marshalsea  of  'Little 
Dorrit,'  not  the  old  historic  Marshalsea,  which  was 
demolished  at  the  beginning  of  the  century — that  stood 
farther  north,  occupying  the  site  of  No.  119  High  Street — 
but  a  new  Marshalsea,  built  in  1811  on  the  site  of  the 
old  White  Lyon,  once  a  hostelry,  but  since  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century  itself  a  prison.  The  Palace  Court 
came  to  a  sudden  end  in  1849,  owing  to  'Jacob 
Omnium '  being  sued  in  it.  Thackeray  tells  the  story 
in  '  Jacob  Homnium's  Hoss  : ' — 

Pore  Jacob  went  to  Court, 

A  Counsel  for  to  fix. 
And  choose  a  barrister  out  of  tlie  four, 

And  an  attorney  of  the  six. 
And  there  he  sor  these  men  of  lor, 

And  watched  them  at  their  tricks. 


0  a  weary  day  was  that 

For  Jacob  to  go  through  ; 
The  debt  was  two  seventeen 

(Which  he  no  mor  owed  than  you), 
And  then  there  was  the  plaintives  costa. 

Eleven  pound  six  and  two. 

And  then  there  was  his  own, 
Which  the  lawyers  they  did  fix 

At  the  wery  moderit  figgar 
Of  ten  pound  one  and  six. 

Now  Evins  bless  the  Pallis  Court, 
And  all  its  bold  ver-dicks  ! 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  241 

The  sittings  of  the  Central  Criminal  Court,  which 
was  founded  in  1834,  were  held,  as  they  are  still  held,  in 
the  Sessions  House  in  the  Old  Bailey.  Eebuilt  in  1809 
on  the  site  of  the  old  Sessions  House  which  was  de- 
stroyed in  the  No-Popery  riots  of  1780,  and  of  the  old 
Surgeons'  Hall — where  the  bodies  of  the  malefactors 
executed  in  Newgate  were  dissected — the  building, 
although  sufficiently  commodious  for  holding  the 
sessions  of  London  and  Middlesex,  for  which  it  was 
originally  intended,  as  the  centre  of  the  criminal  juris- 
diction of  the  kingdom,  was  never  anything  but  a 
makeshift.  Since,  however,  its  dingy  Courts  have  re- 
mained the  same  down  to  our  own  times,  we  can  the 
better  realise  the  surroundings  of  the  criminal  trials 
of  those  days.  It  was  here  that  Greenacre  was  tried 
in  1837.  Bow  Street  was  then  in  the  zenith  of  its  fame, 
and  was  practically  the  centre  of  the  pohce  arrange- 
ments of  London. 

Those  were  the  palmy  days  of  the  Court  of 
Chancery.  Eeform  was,  as  it  had  been  for  centuries, 
in  the  air,  and  there,  notwithstanding  the  efforts  of 
Lord  Lyndhurst,  it  seemed  likely  to  remain.  Practically 
nothing  had  been  done  to  carry  into  effect  the  recom- 
mendations of  the  Commission  of  1826.  At  the  time 
of  her  Majesty's  accession  there  were  nearly  a  thousand 
causes  waiting  to  be  heard  by  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the 
Master  of  the  Polls,  and  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  England. 
It  was  verily  a  '  dead  sea  of  stagnant  litigation.'  '  The 
load  of  business  now  before  the  Court,'  remarked  Sir 


242  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

Lancelot  Shadwell,  'is  so  great  that  three  angels  could 
not  get  through  it.'  Think  what  this  meant !  Many 
of  these  suits  had  endured  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
some  for  half  a  century  ;  '  the  lawyers,'  to  use  the 
current,  if  incorrect,  phrase  of  the  time,  '  tossing  the 
balls  to  each  other.'  One  septuagenarian  suitor, 
goaded  to  madness  by  the  • '  law's  delay,'  had,  a  few 
years  before,  thrust  his  way  into  the  presence  of  Lord 
Eldon,  and  begged  for  a  decision  in  a  cause  waiting  for 
judgment  which  had  been  before  the  Court  ever  since 
the  Lord  Chancellor,  then  nearly  eighty,  was  a 
schoolboy.  Everyone  remembers  *Miss  Flite,'  who 
expected  a  judgment — '  on  the  Day  of  Judgment,*  and 
Gridley  *  the  man  from  Shropshire  : '  both  are  true 
types  of  the  Chancery  suitors  of  fifty,  thirty,  twenty 
years  ago.  It  would  be  wearisome  indeed  to  detail 
the  stages  through  which  a  Chancery  suit  dragged  its 
slow  length  along.  The  '  eternal '  bills,  with  which  it 
began —  and  ended — cross  bills,  answers,  interrogatories, 
replies,  rejoinders,  injunctions,  decrees,  references  to 
masters,  masters'  reports,  exceptions  to  masters'  reports, 
were  veritably  '  a  mountain  of  costly  nonsense.'  And 
when  we  remember  that  the  intervals  between  the 
various  stages  were  often  measured  by  years — that  every 
death  made  a  bill  of  review,  or,  worse  still,  a  supple- 
mental suit,  necessary — we  can  realise  the  magnitude 
of  the  evil.  The  mere  comparison  of  the  '  bills '  in 
Chancery  with  the  '  bills  of  mortality '  shows  that  with 
proper  management  a  suit  need  never  have  come  to  an 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  243 

end.  There  is  a  story  for  which  the  late  Mr.  Chitty 
is  responsible,  that  an  attorney  on  the  marriage  of  his 
son  handed  him  over  a  Chancery  suit  with  some 
common  law  actions.  A  couple  of  years  afterwards 
the  son  asked  his  father  for  some  more  business.  '  Why, 
I  gave  you  that  capital  Chancery  suit,'  replied  his 
father ;  '  what  more  can  you  want  ?  '  '  Yes,  sir,'  said 
the  son  ;  '  but  I  have  wound  up  the  Chancery  suit  and 
given  my  chent  great  satisfaction,  and  he  is  in  possession 
of  the  estate.'  '  What,  you  improvident  fool ! '  rejoined 
the  father  indignantly.  'That  suit  was  in  my  family 
for  twenty-five  years,  and  would  have  continued  so  for 
so  much  longer  if  I  had  kept  it.  I  shall  not  encourage 
such  a  fellow.' 

As  in  Butler's  time  it  might  still  be  said  : — 

So  lawyers,  lest  the  Bear  defendant, 
And  plaintiff  Dog,  should  make  an  end  on't, 
Do  stave  and  tail  with  writ  of  error, 
Reverse  of  judgment,  and  demurrer, 
To  let  them  breathe  awhile,  and  then 
Cry  Whoop  !  and  set  them  on  again. 

In  fact,  like  '  Jarndyce  and  Jarndyce,'  hundreds  of 
suits  struggled  on  until  they  expired  of  inanition,  the 
costs  having  swallowed  up  the  estate.  Such  were  the 
inevitable  delays  fifty  years  ago,  that  no  one  could 
enter  into  a  Chancery  suit  with  the  least  prospect  of 
being  alive  at  its  termination.  It  was  no  small  part 
of  the  duty  of  the  respectable  raembern  of  the  legal 
profession  to  keep  their  clients  out  of  Chancery.     It 


244  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO 

was,  perhaps,  inevitable  that  this  grievance  should  have 
been  made  the  shuttlecock  of  party,  that  personalities 
should  have  obscured  it,  that,  instead  of  the  system,  the 
men  who  were  almost  as  much  its  victims  as  the 
suitors  should  have  been  blamed.  Many  successive 
Lord  Chancellors  in  this  way  came  in  for  much  unde- 
served obloquy.  The  plain  truth  was,  they  were  over- 
worked. Besides  their  political  functions,  they  ]iad 
to  preside  in  the  Lords  over  appeals  from  themselves, 
the  Master  of  the  Eolls,  and  the  Vice-Ghancellor ;  they 
had  some  heavy  work  in  bankruptcy  and  lunacy.  The 
number  of  days  that  could  be  devoted  to  sitting  as  a 
Chancery  judge  of  first  instance  was,  therefore,  ne- 
cessarily small.  That  this  was  the  keynote  of  the 
difficulty  was  shown  by  the  marked  improvement 
which  followed  upon  the  appointment  of  two  additional 
Vice-Chancellors  in  18-Jl.  In  that  year,  too,  another 
scandal  was  done  away  with  by  the  abolition  of  the 
Six  Clerks'  office — a  characteristic  part  of  the  unwieldy 
machine.  The  depositaries  of  the  practice  of  the  Court, 
the  Six  Clerks  and  their  underHngs,  the  'Clerks  in 
Court,'  were  responsible  for  much  of  the  delay  which 
arose.  The  '  Six  Clerks  '  were  paid  by  fees,  and  their 
places  were  worth  nearly  two  thousand  a  year,  for  which 
they  did  practically  nothing,  all  their  duties  being  dis- 
charged by  deputy.  No  one,  it  was  said,  ever  saw  one  of 
the  'Six  Clerks.'  Even  in  their  office  they  were  not 
known.  The  Masters  in  Chancery  were,  too,  in  those  days 
almost  as  important  functionaries  as  the  judges  them- 


LA  IV  AND  JUSTICE  245 

selves.  Judges'  Chambers  were  not  then  in  existence, 
and  much  of  the  work  which  now  comes  before  the 
judges  was  disposed  of  by  a  master,  as  well  as  such 
business  as  the  investigation  of  titles,  the  taking  of 
accounts,  and  the  purely  administrative  functions  of  the 
Court.  All  these  duties  they  discharged  with  closed 
doors  and  free  from  any  supervision  worth  talking 
about.  They,  too,  were  paid  by  fees,  their  receipts 
amounting  to  an  immense  sum,  and  it  was  to  them  that 
the  expense  of  proceedings  was  largely  due.  The 
agitation  for  their  aboHtion,  although  not  crowned 
with  success  until  fifteen  years  later,  was  in  full  blast 
fifty  years  ago. 

At  law,  matters  were  httle  better.  '  Justice  was 
strangled  in  the  nets  of  form.'  The  Courts  of  King's 
Bench,  Common  Pleas,  and  Exchequer  were  not  only  at 
conflict  with  Equity,  but  in  a  lesser  degree  with  each 
other.  The  old  fictions  by  which  they  ousted  each 
other's  jurisdiction  lasted  down  to  1831,  when,  by  statute, 
a  uniformity  of  process  was  established.  It  seems  now- 
adays to  savour  of  the  Middle  Ages,  that  in  order  to 
bring  an  action  in  the  King's  Bench  it  should  have  been 
necessary  for  the  writ  to  describe  the  cause  of  action 
to  be  '  trespass,'  and  then  to  mention  the  real  cause  of 
action  in  an  ac  etiam  clause.  The  reason  for  this  absurd 
formahty  was  that,  '  trespass '  still  being  an  offence  of  a 
criminal  nature,  the  defendant  was  constructively  in  the 
custody  of  the  Marshal  of  the  Marshalsea,  and  therefore 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  King's  Bench.  In  the 
23 


246  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

same  way  a  civil  matter  was  brought  before  the  Court 
of  Exchequer  by  the  pretence  that  the  plaintiff  was  a 
debtor  to  the  King,  and  was  less  able  to  pay  by  reason 
of  the  defendant's  conduct.  The  statement,  although  in 
ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  a  mere  fiction,  was 
not  allowed  to  be  contradicted.  But  the  fact  that  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas  was  thus 
entrenched  upon  was  less  serious  than  it  might  have 
been,  since  in  that  court  the  Serjeants  still  had  exclusive 
audience  ;  and,  distinguished  as  were  the  members  of 
the  Order  of  the  Coif,  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  the 
pubhc  preferred  to  have  their  pick  of  the  Bar. 

But  a  much  more  serious  matter  was  the  block  in 
the  Courts.  This  perennial  grievance  seems  to  have 
then  been  chiefly  due  to  the  shortness  of  the  terms 
during  which  alone  legal  questions  could  be  decided. 
Niai  prius  trials  only  could  be  disposed  of  in  the  vaca- 
tions. Points  of  law  or  practice,  however,  cropped  up 
in  those  days  in  even  the  simplest  matter,  and,  since 
these  often  had  to  stand  over  from  term  to  term,  the 
luckless  litigants  were  fortunate  indeed  if  they  had  not 
to  wait  for  years  before  the  question  in  dispute  was 
finally  disposed  of.  The  Common  Law  Procedure, 
moreover,  hterally  bristled  with  technicalities.  It  was 
a  system  of  solemn  juggling.  The  real  and  imaginary 
causes  of  action  were  so  mixed  up  together,  the  '  plead- 
ings '  required  such  a  mass  of  senseless  falsehood,  that 
it  is  perfectly  impossible  that  the  parties  to  the  action 
could  have  the  least  apprehension  of  what  they  were 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  247 

doincr.  Then  no  two  different  causes  of  action  could  be 
joined,  but  each  had  to  be  prosecuted  separately  through 
all  its  stages.  None  of  the  parties  interested  were  compe- 
tent to  give  evidence.  It  was  not  until  1851  that  the 
plaintiff  and  the  defendant,  often  the  only  persons  who 
could  give  any  account  of  the  matter,  could  go  into  the 
witness-box.  IMistakes  in  such  a  state  of  things  were, 
of  course,  of  common  occurrence,  and  in  those  days 
mistakes  were  fatal.  Proceedings  by  way  of  appeal 
were  equally  hazardous  and  often  impracticable.  The 
Exchequer  Chamber  could  only  take  cognisance  of 
*  error '  raised  by  a  '  bill  of  exceptions ; '  and  even  at 
this  time  the  less  that  is  said  about  that  triumph  of 
special  pleading  the  better.  The  House  of  Lords  could 
only  sit  as  a  Court  of  Error  upon  points  which  had  run 
the  gauntlet  of  the  Exchequer  Chamber.  But  perhaps 
the  crowning  grievance  of  all — a  grievance  felt  equally 
keenly  by  suitors  at  law  and  in  equity — arose  from  the 
limited  powers  of  the  Courts.  If  there  were  a  remedy 
at  law  for  any  given  wrong,  for  instance,  the  Court  of 
Chancery  could  give  no  relief.  In  the  same  way,  if  it 
turned  out,  as  it  often  did,  that  a  plaintiff  should  have 
sued  in  equity  instead  of  proceeding  at  law,  he  was 
promptly  nonsuited.  Law  could  not  grant  an  injunc- 
tion ;  equity  could  not  construe  an  Act  of  Parliament. 

There  were  then,  as  we  have  said,  no  County  Courts. 
The  Courts  of  Eequests,  of  which  there  were  not  a  hun- 
dred altogether,  only  had  jurisdiction  for  the  recovery 
of  debts  under  405.    We  have  already  given  an  illustra- 


248  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

tion  of  the  methods  of  Palace  Court,  which  may  serve 
as  a  type  of  these  minor  courts  of  record.  Indeed,  with 
the  exception  of  the  City  of  London,  which  was  before 
the  times  in  this  respect,  there  was  throughout  the 
kingdom  a  denial  of  lustice.  Those  who  could  not 
afford  to  pay  the  Westminster  price  had  to  go  without. 
For  in  those  days  all  matters  intended  to  be  heard  at 
the  Assizes  were  in  form  prepared  for  trial  at  West- 
minster. The  'record'  'was  delivered  to  the  officers 
of  the  King's  Bench,  Common  Pleas,  or  Exchequer,  and 
the  cause  was  set  down  for  trial  at  Westminster,  n%8% 
prius  in  the  meantime  the  judges  happened  to  go  on 
circuit  into  the  county  in  which  the  cause  of  action 
arose, — in  which  event  one  of  them  would  take  down 
the  record,  try  the  action  with  a  jury  of  the  county, 
pronounce  judgment  according  to  the  verdict,  and 
bring  back  verdict  and  judgment,  to  be  enrolled  in 
due  course  at  Westminster.  In  equity,  things  were 
even  worse.  There  was,  except  in  the  counties  palatine 
of  Durham  and  Lancaster,  no  local  equitable  jurisdic- 
tion. And  it  was  commonly  said,  and  said  with  obvious 
truth,  that  no  sum  of  less  than  500/.  was  worth  suing 
for  or  defending  in  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

Divorce  was  then  the  "  luxury  of  the  wealthy.'  An 
action  for  the  recovery  of  damages  against  the  co-re- 
spondent, and  a  suit  in  the  Ecclesiastical  Courts  for  a 
separation  '  from  bed  and  board,'  themselves  both 
tedious  and  costly,  after  having  been  successfully  pro- 
secuted, had  to  be  followed  by  a  Divorce  Bill,  which 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  249 

had  to  pass  througli  all  its  stages  in  both  Lords  and 
Commons,  before  a  divorce  a  vinculo  matrimonii  could 
be  obtained.  There  is  a  hoary  anecdote  which  usefully 
illustrates  how  this  pressed  upon  the  poor.  '  Prisoner 
at  the  bar,'  said  a  judge  to  a  man  who  had  just  been 
convicted  of  bigamy,  his  wife  having  run  away  with 
another  man,  *  the  institutions  of  your  country  have 
provided  you  with  a  remedy.  You  should  have  sued 
the  adulterer  at  the  Assizes,  and  recovered  a  verdict 
against  him,  and  then  taken  proceedings  by  your 
proctor  in  the  Ecclesiastical  Courts.  After  their  suc- 
cessful termination  you  might  have  applied  to  Parlia- 
ment for  a  Divorce  A.ct,  and  your  counsel  would  have 
been  heard  at  the  Bar  of  the  House.'  *  But,  my  lord,' 
said  the  disconsolate  bigamist,  *I  cannot  afford  to 
bring  actions  or  obtain  Acts  of  Parliament ;  I  am  only 
a  very  poor  man.'  'Prisoner,'  rejoined  the  judge,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  *  it  is  the  glory  of  the  law  of  Eng- 
land that  it  knows  no  distinction  between  rich  and 
poor.'  Yet  it  was  not  until  twenty  years  after  the 
Queen  came  to  the  throne  that  the  Court  for  Divorce 
and  Matrimonial  Causes  was  created. 

Probate,  too,  and  all  matters  and  suits  relating  to 
testacy  and  intestacy,  were  disposed  of  in  the  Ecclesias- 
tical Courts, — tribunals  were  attached  to  the  arch- 
bishops, bishops,  and  archdeacons.  The  Court  of 
Arches,  the  supreme  Ecclesiastical  Court  for  the  Pro- 
vince of  Canterbury,  the  Prerogative  Court,  where  all 
contentious  testamentary  causes   were  tried,  as  well  as 


250  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

the  Admiralty  Courts,  were  held  at  Doctors'  Commons. 
It  was  a  curious  mixture  of  spiritual  and  legal  func- 
tions. The  judges  and  officers  of  the  Court  were  often 
clergy  without  any  knowledge  of  the  law'.  They  were 
paid  by  fees,  and,  according  to  the  common  practice  of 
those  days,  often  discharged  their  duties  by  deputy. 
The  advocates  who  practised  before  them  were,  too, 
anything  but  'learned  in  the  law.'  They  wore  in  Court, 
if  of  Oxford,  scarlet  robes  and  hoods  lined  with  taffety, 
and  if  of  Cambridge,  white  miniver  and  round  black 
velvet  caps.  The  proctors  wore  black  robes  and  hoods 
hned  with  fur.  The  procedure  was  similar  to  that  in 
vogue  in  the  Common  Law  Courts,  but  the  nomencla- 
ture was  entirely  different.  The  substitute  for  punish- 
ment was  '  penance,'  and  the  consequence  of  non-sub- 
mission '  excommunication,'  which,  in  addition  to  spiri- 
tual pains,  incapacitated  the  delinquent  from  bringing 
any  action,  and  at  the  end  of  forty  days  rendered  him 
liable  to  imprisonment  by  the  Court  of  Chancery.  The 
practical  result  was  that  both  penance  and  excommu- 
nication were  indirect  methods  of  extracting  money 
payments.  But  the  whole  system  was  full  of  abuses, 
and  when,  twenty  years  later,  these  courts  were  shorn 
of  all  their  important  functions,  it  was  with  the  uni- 
versal concurrence  of  the  public.  Until  then  there 
were  many  who  shared  the  opinion  of  De  Foe's  intelli- 
gent foreigner,  that  '  England  was  a  fine  country,  but 
a  man  called  Doctors'  Commons  was  the  devil,  for  there 
was  no  getting  out  of  his  clutches,  let  one's  cause  be 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  25 1 

never    so    good,    without    paying    a   great     deal     ot 
money.' 

In  bankruptcy,  a  severity  which  was  simply  ferocious 
prevailed.  Traders  owing  more  than  300/.,  and  a 
little  later  all  traders,  could  obtain  a  discharge  upon 
full  disclosure  and  surrender  of  all  their  property  ;  but 
even  then  the  proceedings  were  protracted  to  an  almost 
interminable  length.  The  machinery  was  both  cum- 
brous and  costly.  Down  to  1831  the  bankruptcy  law  in 
Loudon  was  administered  by  Commissioners  appointed 
separately  for  each  case  by  the  Lord  Chancellor.  In 
that  year  a  Court  of  Eeview  was  established,  with  a 
chief  judge  and  two  minor  judges ;  and  this  to  some 
extent  controlled  and  supervised  the  proceedings  of 
the  Commissioners,  now  a  permanent  body.  In  the 
country,  however,  the  old  procedure  prevailed  ;  but  the 
amount  of  business  done  was  ridiculously  small,  creditors 
preferring,  as  they  always  probably  will  do,  to  write  off 
the  bad  debts  rather  than  to  attempt  to  recover  them 
by  the  aid  of  the  bankruptcy  law.  The  system,  more- 
over, bristled  with  pains  and  penalties.  If  a  bankrupt, 
as  alleged,  did  not  surrender  to  his  commission  within 
forty- two  days  of  notice ;  nor  make  discovery  of  his 
estate  and  effects ;  nor  deliver  up  his  books  and  papers, 
he  was  to  be  deemed  a  felon  and  liable  to  be  transported 
for  life.  An  adjudication — the  first  stage  in  the  pro- 
ceedings— was  granted  upon  the  mere  affidavit  of  a 
creditor,  a  fiat  was  issued,  the  Commissioners  held  a 
meeting,  and,  without  hearing  the  debtor  at  all,  declared 


252  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

him  a  bankrupt.  It  was  thus  quite  possible  for  a 
trader  to  find  himself  in  the  Gazette^  and  ultimately  in 
prison,  although  perfectly  solvent.  He  had  his  remedies, 
it  is  true.  He  could  bring  an  action  of  trespass  or  false 
imprisonment  against  the  Commissioners.  He  could 
make  tilings  uncomfortable  for  the  assignee,  by  im- 
peaching the  validity  of  the  adjudication.  But  in  any 
case  a  delay  extending  perhaps  over  many  years  was 
inevitable  before  the  matter  was  decided. 

'  Insolvent  debtors,'  as  those  not  in  trade  were  dis- 
tinguished, were  in  yet  worse  case.  Imprisonment  on 
'  mesne  process  '  or,  in  plain  English,  on  the  mere  affi- 
davit of  a  creditor,  was  the  leading  principle  of  this 
branch  of  the  bankruptcy  law ;  and  in  prison  the  debtor 
remained  until  he  found  security  or  paid.  The  anomaly 
which  exempted  real  estate  from  the  payment  of  debts 
had  been  removed  in  1825  ;  and,  since  then,  a  debtor, 
actually  in  prison,  could  obtain  a  release  from  confine- 
ment by  a  surrender  of  all  his  real  and  personal  property, 
although  he  remained  liable  for  all  the  unpaid  portion 
of  his  debts  whenever  the  Court  should  be  satisfied  of 
his  ability  to  pay  them .  Everything,  moreover,  depended 
upon  the  creditor.  He  still  had  an  absolute  option,  after 
verdict  and  judgment,  of  taking  the  body  of  the  debtor 
in  satisfaction,  and  the  early  records  of  the  Court  for 
the  Eelief  of  Insolvent  Debtors  show  how  weak  and 
impotent  were  the  remedies  provided  by  the  Legis- 
lature. It  was  not  until  twenty  years  later  that  the  full 
benefits  of  bankruptcy  were  extended  to  persons  who 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  253 

had  become  indebted  without  fraud  or  culpable  negli- 
gence. Enough  has  already  been  said  of  tlie  state  of 
the  debtors'  prisons.  It  is  sufficient  to  add  here  that  in 
the  second  year  of  the  Queen  nearly  four  thousand  per- 
sons were  arrested  for  debt  in  London  alone,  and  of  these 
nearly  four  hundred  remained  permanently  in  prison. 

It  was,  however,  in  the  administration  of  the  criminal 
law  that  the  harsh  temper  of  the  times  reached  its 
zenith.  Both  as  regards  procedure  and  penalties,  justice 
then  dealt  hardly  indeed  with  persons  accused  of  crimes. 
In  cases  of  felony,  for  instance,  the  prisoner  could  not, 
down  to  1836,  be  defended  by  counsel,  and  had,  there- 
fore, to  speak  for  himself.  Now  think  what  this  meant ! 
The  whole  proceedings,  from  arrest  to  judgment,  were 

for  the  matter  of  that  they  still  are — highly  artificial 

and  technical.  The  prisoner,  often  poor  and  uneducated, 
was  generally  unaccustomed  to  sustained  thought.  The 
indictment,  which  was  only  read  over  to  him,  was  often 
almost  interminable  in  length,  with  a  separate  count  for 
each  offence,  and  all  the  counts  mixed  and  varied  in  every 
way  that  a  subtle  ingenuity  could  suggest.  Defences 
depended  as  largely  for  their  success  upon  the  prisoner 
taking  advantage  of  some  technical  flaw  (which,  in  many 
cases,  had  to  be  done  before  pleading  to  the  indictment), 
as  upon  his  establishing  his  innocence  upon  the  facts. 
But  what  chance  had  an  illiterate  prisoner  of  detecting 
even  a  fundamental  error  when  he  was  not  allowed  a 
copy  of  the  document  ?  In  fact,  in  the  words  of  Mr. 
Justice  Stephen,  the  most  eminent  living  authority  upon 


254  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

the  history  of  our  criminal  law,  '  it  is  scarcely  a  parody 
to  say  that  from  the  earliest  times  down  to  our  own 
days  the  law  relating  to  indictments  was  much  the 
same  as  if  some  small  proportion  of  the  prisoners  con- 
victed had  been  allowed  to  toss-up  for  their  liberty.' 

There  might,  further,  be  the  grossest  errors  of  law, 
as  laid  down  by  the  judge  to  the  jury,  or  of  fact  upon 
the  evidence,  without  the  prisoner  having  any  remedy. 
Neither  the  evidence  nor  the  judge's  directions  appeared 
upon  the  face  of  the  '  record,'  and  it  was  only  for  some 
irregularity  upon  the  record  that  a  writ  of  error  would 
lie.  A  curious  practice,  however,  gradually  sprang  up, 
whereby  substantial  miscarriage  of  justice  was  often 
averted.  If  a  legal  point  of  any  difficulty  arose  in  any 
criminal  case  heard  at  the  Assizes,  or  elsewhere,  the 
judge  respited  the  prisoner,  or  postponed  judgment,  and 
reported  the  matter  to  the  judges.  The  point  reserved 
was  then  argued  before  the  judges  by  counsel,  not 
in  court,  but  at  Serjeants'  Inn,  of  which  all  the  judges 
were  members.  If  it  was  decided  that  the  prisoner  had 
been  improperly  convicted,  he  received  a  free  pardon. 
It  was  this  tribunal  which  was  in  1848  erected  into  the 
Court  for  Crown  Cases  Eeserved. 

The  outcry  against  capital  punishment  for  minor 
felonies  was  still  in  full  blast.  The  history  of  this 
legislation  is  extremely  curious.  The  value  of  human 
life  was  slowly  raised.  It  had,  thanks  to  the  noble 
efforts  of  Sir  Samuel  Romilly,  ceased  to  be  a  capital 
offence  to  steal  from    a   shop  to    the  amount  of  55. ; 


LA  W  AND  JUSTICE  255 

but  public  opinion  was  still  more  enlightened  than 
the  laws.  A  humane  judge  compelled  to  pass  sentence 
of  death  upon  a  woman  convicted  of  stealing  from  a 
dwelhno--house  to  the  value  of  4.05.,  shocked  when  the 
wretched  victim  fainted  away,  cried  out,  '  Good  woman, 
good  woman,  I  don't  mean  to  hang  you.  I  don't  mean 
to  hang  you.  Will  nobody  tell  her  I  don't  mean  to 
hang  her?'  Jurors  perjured  themselves  rather  than 
subject  anybody  to  this  awful  penalty.  In  1833  Lord 
Suffield,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  declared,  '  I  hold 
in  my  hand  a  list  of  555  perjured  verdicts  deUvered  at 
the  Old  Bailey  in  fifteen  years,  for  the  single  offence  of 
steahng  from  dwelling-houses  ;  the  value  stolen  being 
in  these  cases  sworn  above  the  value  of  405. ',  but  the 
verdicts  returned  being  to  the  value  of  395.  only.' 
Human  life  was,  then,  appraised  at  hi.  But  juries 
were  equal  to  the  occasion.  Disregarding  the  actual 
amount  stolen,  they  substituted  for  the  old  verdict 
'  Guilty  of  stealing  to  the  value  of  395.' — '  Guilty  of 
stealing  to  the  value  of  4/.  195.'  Here  is  an  illustration. 
A  man  was  convicted  at  the  Old  Bailey  of  robbing  his 
employers  to  the  amount  of  1,000/.  The  evidence  was 
overwhelming.  Property  worth  200/.  was  found  in  his 
own  room  ;  300/.  more  was  traced  to  the  man  to  whom 
he  had  sold  it.  The  jury  found  him  guilty  of  steahng  to  the 
amount  of  4/.  195.  He  was  again  indicted  for  stealing 
25/.,  and  again  convicted  of  stealing  less  than  5/.  In 
the  remaining  indictments  the  prosecutors  allowed  him 
to  plead  guilty  to  the  same  extent.     In  the  same  way. 


256  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

for  years  prior  to  1832,  when  the  death  penalty  for 
forgery  was  aboHshed — except  in  the  cases  of  wills  and 
powers  of  attorney  relating  to  the  public  funds — juries 
refused  to  convict.  'Prisoner  at  the  bar,'  said  Chief 
Baron  Richards  to  a  man  acquitted  at  Carnarvon 
Assizes  for  forging  Bank  of  England  notes,  '  although 
you  have  been  acquitted  by  a  jury  of  your  country- 
men of  the  crime  of  forgery,  I  am  as  convinced  of 
your  guilt  as  that  two  and  two  make  four.'  And  the 
jury  privately  admitted  that  they  were  of  the  same 
opinion.  In  short,  the  severity  of  the  penal  code  was 
a  positive  danger  to  the  community.  Professed  thieves 
made  a  rich  harvest  by  getting  themselves  indicted  capi- 
tally, because  they  then  felt  sure  of  escape.  The  sentence, 
moreover,  could  not  be  carried  out.  It  became  usual 
in  all  cases  except  murder  to  merely  order  it  to  be 
recorded,  which  had  the  effect  of  a  reprieve.  Here  are 
some  figures.  In  the  three  years  ended  December 
31,  1833,  there  were  896  commitments  in  London  and 
Middlesex  on  capital  offences  and  only  twelve  exe- 
cutions. In  1834,  1835,  and  1836  there  were  823 
commitments  and  no  executions.  With  the  first  year 
of  the  Queen  a  more  merciful  regime  w^as  begun.  Six 
offences — forgery  in  all  cases  ;  rioting  ;  rescuing  mur- 
derers ;  inciting  to  mutiny ;  smuggling  with  arms  ;  and 
kidnapping  slaves — were  declared  not  capital.  But  it 
was  not  until  1861  that  all  these  blots  were  finally 
erased  from  the  Statute  Book. 

Among  other  mediceval  barbarities,  the    dissection 


LA  IV  AND  JUSTICE  257 

of  a  murderer's  body  was  not  abolished  until  1861,  but 
it  was  made  optional  in  1832.  ■  Hanging  in  chains 
was  done  away  with  in  1834.  The  pillory,  a  punish- 
ment hmited  to  perjury  since  1816,  was  altogether 
abolished  in  1837.  The  stocks  had  been  generally  su- 
perseded by  the  treadmill  ten  years  earlier.  Common 
assaults  and  many  misdemeanours  were,  on  the  other 
hand,  much  more  leniently  dealt  with  in  those  days 
than  they  are  in  our  own.  As  late  as  1847  a  case 
occurred  in  which  a  ruffian  pounded  his  wife  with  his 
fists  so  that  she  remained  insensible  for  three  days. 
Yet,  since  he  used  no  weapon,  he  could  only  be  con- 
victed of  a  common  assault  and  imprisoned  without 
hard  labour. 

But  it  was  not  perhaps  an  unmixed  evil  that  the 
powers  of  the  magistrates  were  then  very  hmited. 
The  'Great  Unpaid,'  as  they  were  then  universally 
known,  were  a  bye-word.  Tlieir  proceedings,  both  at 
Petty  and  Quarter  Sessions,  were  disgraced  bj  igno- 
rance, rashness,  and  class  prejudice.  Summary  juris- 
diction was  then,  fortunately,  only  in  its  infancy. 


2zS  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

CONCLUSION. 

The  consideration  of  the  country  as  it  was  would  not 
be  complete  without  some  comparison  with  the  country 
as  it  is.  But  I  will  make  this  comparison  as  brief  as 
possible. 

In  the  Church,  the  old  Calvinism  is  well-nigh  dead  : 
even  the  Low  Church  of  the  present  day  would  have 
seemed,  fifty  years  ago,  a  kind  of  veiled  Popery.  And 
the  Church  has  grown  greater  and  stronger.  She  will 
be  greater  and  stronger  still  when  she  enlarges  her 
borders  to  admit  the  great  bodies  of  Nonconformists. 
The  old  grievances  exist  no  longer:  there  are  no 
pluralists :  there  is  no  non-resident  Vicar :  the  small 
benefices  are  improved :  Church  architecture  has  re- 
vived :  the  Church  services  are  rendered  with  loving 
and  jealous  care :  the  old  reproaches  are  no  longer 
hurled  at  the  clergy :  fat  and  lazy  shepherds  they 
certainly  are  not :  careless  and  perfunctory  they  can- 
not now  be  called :  even  if  they  are  less  scholarly, 
which  must  be  sorrowfully  admitted,  they  are  more 
earnest. 


CONCLUSION  259 

The  revival  of  the  Church  services  has  produced 
its  effect  also  upon  Dissent.  Its  ministers  are  more 
learned  and  more  cultured  ;  their  congregations  are  no 
longer  confined  to  the  humbler  trading-class:  their 
leaders  belong  to  society :  their  writers  are  among  the 
best  litterateurs  of  the  day. 

That  the  science  of  warfare,  by  sea  and  land,  has 
also  changed,  is  a  doubtful  advantage.  Yet  wars  are 
short,  which  is,  in  itself,  an  immeasurable  gain.  The 
thin  red  Hne  will  be  seen  no  more :  nor  the  splendid 
great  man-o'-war,  with  a  hundred  guns  and  a  crew  of 
a  thousand  men. 

The  Universities,  which,  fifty  years  ago,  belonged 
wholly  to  the  Church,  are  now  thrown  open.  The 
Fellowships  and  Scholarships  of  the  Colleges  were 
then  mostly  appropriated  :  they  are  now  free,  and  the 
range  of  studies  has  been  immensely  widened. 

As  for  the  advance  in  physical  and  medical  science 
I  am  not  qualified  to  speak.  But  everybody  knows 
that  it  has  been  enormous :  while,  in  surgery,  the 
discovery  of  anaesthetics  has  removed  from  life  one  of 
its  most  appalling  horrors. 

In    hterature,  though    new   generations  of  writers 

have  appeared  and  passed  away,  we  have  still  with  us 

the  two  great  poets  who,  fifty  years  ago,  had  already 

begun    their  work.     The  Victorian  era  can   boast   of 

such  names  as  Carlyle,  Macaulay,  Thackeray,  Dickens, 

Tennyson,  and  Browning,  in  the  first  rank  of  men  of 

letters ;    those    of  Darwin,    Faraday,    and    Huxley   in 
2i 


26o  FIFTY    YEARS  AGO 

science.  Besides  these  there  has  been  an  immense 
crowd  of  men  and  women  who  belong  to  the  respect- 
able second  rank — to  enumerate  whom  would  take 
pages.  Who  can  say  if  any  of  them  will  live  beyond 
the  century,  and  if  any  will  be  remembered  in  a 
hundred  years  ? 

We  have  all  grown  richer,  much  richer.  'The 
poor,'  says  Mr.  George,  '  have  grown  poorer.'  That 
is  most  distinctly  and  emphatically  untrue.  Nothing 
could  be  more  untrue.  The  poor — that  is  to  say,  the 
working  classes — have  grown  distinctly  better  off.  They 
are  better  housed  ;  they  are  better  fed  ;  they  are  more 
cheaply  fed  ;  they  are  better  dressed  ;  they  have  a  thou- 
sand luxuries  to  which  they  were  formerly  strangers  ; 
their  children  are  educated ;  in  most  great  towns 
they  have  free  libraries ;  they  have  their  own  clubs ; 
they  are  at  liberty  to  combine  and  to  hold  public 
meetings  ;  they  have  the  Post  Office  Savings  Bank ;  and, 
as  for  political  power,  they  have  all  the  power  there  is, 
because  you  cannot  give  any  man  more  than  his  vote. 

Formerly  they  demanded  the  Six  Points  of  the 
Charter,  and  thought  that  universal  happiness  would 
follow  on  their  acquisition.  We  have  now  got  most 
of  the  Six  Points,  and  we  do  not  care  much  about  the 
rest.  Yet  happiness  is  not  by  any  means  universal. 
Some  there  are  who  still  think  that  by  more  tinkering 
of  the  machinery  the  happiness  of  tlie  people  will  be 
assured.  Others  there  are  who  consider  that  political 
and  social  wisdom,  on  the  possession  of  which  by  our 


CONCLUSION  261 

rulers  the  vvelfare  of  the  people  does  mainly  depend,  is 
outside  and  independent  of  the  machinery. 

Is  it  nothing,  again,  that  the  people  have  found  out 
their  own  country  ?  Formerly  their  lives  were  spent 
wholly  in  the  place  where  they  were  born  ;  they  knew 
no  other.  Now  the  railways  carry  them  cheaply  every- 
where. In  one  small  town  of  Lancashire  the  factory- 
hands  alone  spend  30,000/.  a  year  in  excursions.  The 
railways,  far  more  than  the  possession  of  a  vote,  had 
given  the  people  a  knowledge  of  their  strength. 

The  civil  service  of  the  country  is  no  longer  in  the 
patronage  of  the  Government.  There  are  few  spoils 
left  to  the  victors ;  there  are  no  sinecures  left ;  except 
in  the  Crown  Colonies,  there  are  few  places  to  be  given 
away.  It  is,  however,  very  instructive  to  remark  that, 
wherever  there  is  a  place  to  be  given  away,  it  is  inva- 
riably, just  as  of  old,  and  without  the  least  difference  of 
party,  whether  Conservatives  or  Liberals  are  in  power, 
filled  up  by  jobbery,  favouritism,  and  private  interest. 

You  have  been  told  how  they  have  introduced  vast 
reforms  in  Law.  Prisons  for  debt  have  been  abolished  ; 
yet  men  are  still  imprisoned  for  debt.  Happily  I  know 
httle  about  the  administration  of  Law.  Some  time  ao"0, 
however,  I  was  indirectly  interested  in  an  action  in  the 
High  Court  of  Justice,  the  conduct  and  result  of  which 
gave  me  much  food  for  reflection.  It  was  an  action 
for  quite  a  small  sum  of  money.  Yet  a  year  and  a 
half  elapsed  between  the  commencement  of  the  action 
and  its  hearinsf.     The  verdict  carried  costs.     Tlie  costs 


262  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

amounted  to  three  times  the  sum  awarded  to  the  plaintiff. 
That  seems  to  be  a  deliglitful  condition  of  tilings  when 
you  cannot  get  justice  to  listen  to  you  for  a  year  and 
a  half,  and  when  it  may  cost  a  defendant  three  times 
the  amount  disputed  in  order  to  defend  what  he  knows 
— though  his  counsel  may  fail  to  make  a  jury  under- 
stand the  case — to  be  just  and  right.  I  humbly  sub- 
mit, as  the  next  reform  in  Law,  that  Justice  shall  have 
no  holidays,  so  as  to  expedite  actions,  and  that  the 
verdict  shall  in  no  case  carry  costs,  so  as  to  cheapen 
them. 

As  for  our  recreations,  we  no  longer  bawl  comic 
songs  at  taverns,  and  there  is  no  Vauxhall.  On  tlie 
other  hand,  the  music-hall  is  certainly  no  improvenient 
on  the  tavern ;  the  '  Colonies  '  was  perhaps  a  more 
respectable  Vauxhall ;  the  comic  opera  may  be  better 
than  the  old  extravaganza,  but  I  am  not  certain  that  it 
is  ;  there  are  the  Crystal  Palace,  the  Aquarium,  and  the 
Albert  Hall  also  in  place  of  Vauxhall ;  and  there  are 
outdoor  amusements  unknown  fifty  years  ago — lawn 
tennis,  cycling,  rowing,  and  athletics  of  all  kinds. 

There  has  been  a  great  upward  movement  of  the 
professional  class.  New  professions  have  come  into 
existence,  and  the  old  professions  are  more  esteemed. 
It  was  formerly  a  poor  and  beggarly  thing  to  belong 
to  any  other  than  the  three  learned  professions ;  a 
barrister  would  not  shake  hands  with  a  solicitor,  a 
Nonconformist  minister  was  not  met  in  any  society. 
Artists,  writers,  journalists,  were  considered  Bohemians. 


CONCLUSION  263 

The  teaching  of  anything  was  held  in  contempt ;  to 
become  a  teacher  was  a  confession  of  the  direst 
poverty — there  were  thousands  of  poor  girls  eating  out 
their  hearts  because  they  had  to  '  go  out '  as  gover- 
nesses. There  were  no  High  Schools  for  girls  ;  there 
were  no  colleges  for  them. 

Slavery  has  gone.  There  are  now  no  slaves  in 
Christendom,  save  in  the  island  of  Cuba.  Fifty  years 
ago  an  American  went  mad  if  you  threw  in  his  teeth 
the  '  Institution  ; '  either  he  defended  it  with  zeal,  or 
else  he  charged  England  with  having  introduced  it 
into  the  country :  in  the  Southern  States  it  was  as 
much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  say  a  word  again>^t 
it;  travellers  went  South  on  purpose  that  they  might 
see  slaves  put  up  to  auction,  mothers  parted  from  their 
children,  and  all  the  stock  horrors.  Then  they  came 
home  and  wrote  about  it,  and  held  up  their  hands  and 
cried,  'Oh,  isn't  it  dreadful?'  The  negro  slavery  is 
gone,  and  now  there  is  only  left  the  slavery  of  the 
women  who  work.  When  will  that  go  too  ?  And 
how  can  it  be  swept  away  ? 

Public  executions  gone  :  pillory  gone — the  last  man 
pilloried  was  in  the  year  1830  :  no  more  flogging  in  the 
army  :  the  Factoiy  Acts  passed :  all  these  are  great 
gains.  A  greater  is  the  growth  of  sympathy  with  all 
those  who  suffer,  whether  wrongfully  or  by  misfortune, 
or  through  their  own  misdoings.  This  growth  of 
sympathy  is  due  especially  to  the  works  of  certain 
novelists  belonging  to  the  Victorian    age.     It   is  pro- 


264  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

ducing  all  kinds  of  good  works — the  unselfish  devotion 
of  men  and  women  to  work  among  the  poor  :  teaching 
of  every  description :  philanthropy  which  does  not 
stop  short  with  the  cheque :  charity  which  is  organ- 
ised :  measures  for  prevention  :  support  of  hospitals 
and  convalescent  homes  :  the  introduction  of  Art  and 
Music  to  the  working  classes. 

All  these  changes  seem  to  be  gains  Have  there 
been  no  losses  ? 

In  the  nature  of  things  there  could  not  fail  to  be 
losses.  Some  of  the  old  politeness  has  been  lost, 
though  there  are  still  men  with  the  fine  manners  of  our 
grandfathers :  the  example  of  the  women  who  speak, 
who  write,  who  belong  to  professions,  and  are,  gene- 
rally, aggressive,  threatens  to  change  the  manners  of 
all  women :  they  have  already  become  more  assured, 
more  self-reliant,  less  deferent  to  men's  opinion — the 
old  deference  of  men  to  women  was,  of  course,  merely 
conventional.  They  no  longer  dread  the  necessity  of 
working  for  themselves  ;  they  plunge  boldly  into  the 
arena  prepared  to  meet  with  no  consideration  on  the 
sc'jre  of  sex.  If  a  woman  writes  a  bad  book,  for 
instance,  no  critic  hesitates  to  pronounce  it  bad  be- 
cause a  woman  has  written  it.  Whatever  work  man 
does  woman  ti'ies  to  do.  They  boldly  deny  any  in- 
feriority of  intellect,  though  no  woman  has  ever  pro- 
duced any  work  which  puts  her  anywhere  near  the 
highest  intellectual  level.  They  claim  a  complete 
equahty   which   they    have  hitherto    failed    to    prove. 


CONCLUSION  265 

Some  of  tliem  even  secretly  whisper  of  natural 
superiority.  They  demand  their  vote.  Perhaps,  be- 
fore long,  they  will  be  in  both  Houses,  and  then  man 
will  be  speedily  relegated  to  his  proper  place,  which 
will  be  that  of  the  executive  servant.  Oh !  happy, 
happy  time ! 

It  is  said  that  we  have  lost  the  old  leisure  of  life. 
As  for  that,  and  the  supposed  drive  and  hurry  of  modern 
life,  I  do  not  believe  in  it.  That  is  to  say,  the  compe- 
tition is  fierce  and  the  struggle  hard.  But  these  are  no 
new  things.  It  is  a  commonplace  to  talk  of  the  leisure 
and  calm  of  the  eighteenth  century — it  cannot  be  too 
often  repeated  that  in  1837  we  were  still  in  that  century 
— I  declare  that  in  all  my  reading  about  social  life  in 
the  eighteenth  century  I  have  failed  to  discover  that 
leisure.  From  Queen  Anne  to  Queen  Victoria  I  have 
searched  for  it,  and  I  cannot  find  it.  The  leisure  of 
the  eighteenth  century  exists,  in  fact,  only  in  the  brain 
of  painter  and  poet.  Life  was  hard  ;  labour  was  in- 
cessant, and  lasted  the  whole  day  long ;  the  shopmen 
lived  in  the  shop — they  even  slept  in  it ;  the  mill 
people  worked  all  day  long  and  far  into  the  night. 
If  I  look  about  the  country,  I  see  in  town  and  village 
the  poor  man  oppressed  and  driven  by  his  employer : 
I  see  the  labourer  in  a  blind  revenge  setting^  fire  to 
the  ricks  ;  I  see  the  factory  hand  destroying  the  ma- 
chinery ;  I  see  everywhere  discontent,  poverty,  privi- 
lege, patronage,  and  profligacy;  I  hear  the  shrieks  of 
the  wretches  flogged  at  the  cart  tail,  the  screams  of  the 


266  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

women  flofrered  at  Bridewell.     I  see  the  white  faces  of 

Do 

the  poor  creatures  brought  out  to  be  hung  up  in  rows 
for  stealing  bread  ;  I  see  the  fighting  of  the  press  gang  ; 
I  see  the  soldiers  and  sailors  flogged  into  sullen  obedi- 
ence ;  I  see  hatred  of  the  Church,  hatred  of  the  govern- 
ing class,  hatred  of  the  rich,  hatred  of  employers — 
where,  with  all  these  things,  is  there  room  for  leisure? 
Leisure  means  peace,  contentment,  plenty,  wealth,  and 
ease.  What  peace,  what  contentment  was  there  in 
those  days? 

The  decay  of  the  great  agricultural  interest  is  a 
calamity  which  has  been  coming  upon  us  slowly, 
though  with  a  continually  accelerated  movement. 
This  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  why  the  country  regards 
it  with  so  strange  an  apathy.  It  is  not  only  that  the 
landlords  are  rapidly  encountering  ruin,  that  the 
farmers  are  losing  all  their  capital,  and  that  labourers 
are  daily  turned  out  of  work  and  driven  away  to  the 
great  towns  ;  the  very  existence  of  the  country  towns  is 
threatened  ;  the  investments  which  depend  on  rent  and 
estates  are  threatened  ;  colleges  and  charities  are  losing 
their  endowments ;  worst  of  all,  the  rustic,  the  back- 
bone and  support  of  the  country,  who  has  always 
supplied  all  our  armies  with  all  our  soldiers,  is  fast 
disappearing  from  the  land.  I  confess  that,  if  some- 
thing does  not  happen  to  stay  the  ruin  of  agriculture 
in  these  Islands,  I  think  the  end  of  their  greatness  will 
not  be  far  off.  Perhaps  I  think  and  speak  as  a  fool ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  a  cheap  loaf  is  dearly  bought 


CONCLUSION  267 

if,  among  other  blessings,  it  deprives  the  countryside 
of  its  village  folk,  strong  and  healthy,  and  the  empire 
of  its  stalvs^art  soldiers.  As  for  the  House  of  Lords  and 
the  English  aristocracy,  they  cannot  survive  the  day 
when  the  farms  cannot  even  support  the  hands  that  till 
the  soil,  and  are  left  untilled  and  uncultivated. 

There  are,  to  make  an  end,  two  changes  especially 
for  which  we  can  never  be  sufficiently  thankful.  The 
first  is  the  decay  of  the  old  Calvinism ;  that  gone,  the 
chief  terror  of  life  is  gone  too  ;  the  chief  sting  of  death 
is  gone  ;  the  terrible,  awful  question  which  reasoning 
man  could  not  refrain  from  asking  is  gone  too. 

The  second  change  is  the  transference  of  the  power 
to  the  people.  All  the  power  that  there  is  we  have 
given  to  the  people,  who  are  now  waiting  for  a  prophet 
to  teach  them  how  best  to  use  it.  I  trust  I  am  under 
no  illusions ;  Democracy  has  many  dangers  and  many 
evils ;  but  these  seem  to  me  not  so  bad  as  those  others 
which  we  have  shaken  off.  One  must  not  expect  a 
Millennium  ;  mistakes  will  doubtless  be  committed,  and 
those  bad  ones.  Besides,  a  change  in  the  machinery 
does  not  change  the  people  who  run  that  machinery. 
There  will  be  the  tyranny  of  the  Caucus  to  be  faced 
and  trampled  down ;  we  must  endure,  with  all  his  vices 
and  his  demagogic  arts,  the  professional  politician  whose 
existence  depends  on  his  party ;  we  must  expect — and 
ceaselessly  fight  against — bribery  and  wholesale  corrup- 
tion when  a  class  of  these  professional  politicians,  poor, 


26S  FIFTY   YEARS  AGO 

unscrupulous,  and  grasping,  will  be  continually,  by 
every  evil  art,  by  every  lying  statement,  by  every 
creeping  baseness,  endeavouring  to  climb  unto  power — 
such  there  are  already  among  us  ;  we  shall  have  to 
awaken  from  apathy,  and  keep  awake,  those  who  are 
anxious  to  avoid  the  arena  of  politics,  yet,  by  educa- 
tion, position,  and  natural  abilities,  are  called  upon  to 
lead.  Yet  who,  even  in  the  face  of  the  certain  dangers, 
the  certain  mistakes,  of  Democracy,  shall  say  that  great, 
terrible,  and  most  disastrous  mistakes  have  not  been 
made  by  an  Aristocracy  ?  There  is  always  hope  where 
there  is  freedom ;  let  us  trust  in  the  common-sense  of 
the  nation,  and  remain  steadfast  in  that  trust. 


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of  the  History,  Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the 
War  for  Independence.  By  Benson  J.  Lossing.  2  vols.,  8vo, 
Cloth,  $14  00;  Sheep  or  Roan,  $15  00;   Half  Calf,  $18  00. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  WAR  OF  1812.  Pictorial 
Ficld-Book  of  the  War  of  1812  ;  or,  lUtisirations  by  Pen  and  Pencil 
of  the  History,  Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the 
last  War  for  American  Independence.  By  Benson  J.  Lossing. 
With  several  hundred  Engravings.  1088  pages,  8vo,  Cloth,  $7  00; 
Sheep  or  Roan,  $8  50;  Half  Calf,  $10  00. 

MULLER'S  POLITICAL  HISTORY  OF  RECENT  TIMES  (1816- 
1875).  With  Special  Reference  to  Germany.  By  William  Mi)L- 
LER.  Translated,  with  an  Appendix  covering  the  Period  from  1876 
to  1881,  by  the  Rev.  John  P.  Peters,  Ph.D.      12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

STANLEY'S  THROUGH  THE  DARK  CONTINENT.  Through 
the  Dark  Continent ;  or,  The  Sources  of  the  Nile,  Around  the  Great 
Lakes  of  Equatorial  Africa,  and  Down  the  Livingstone  River  to  the 
Atlantic  Ocean.  149  Illustrations  and  10  Maps.  By  H.  M.  Stan- 
let.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  00;  Sheeji,  $12  00;  Half  Morocco, 
$15  00. 

STANLEY'S  CONGO.  The  Congo  and  the  Founding  of  its  Free 
State,  a  Story  of  Work  and  Exploration.  With  over  One  Hundred 
Full-page  and  smaller  Illustrations,  Two  Large  Maps,  and  several 
smaller  ones.  By  H.  M.  Stanley.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  00; 
Sheep,  $12  00;   Half  Morocco,  $15  00. 

GREEN'S  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.  History  of  the  English  People. 
By  John  Richard  Green,  M.A.  With  Maps.  4  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth, 
$10  00;   Sheep,  $12  00;    Half  Calf,  $19  00. 

GREEN'S  MAKING  OF  ENGLAND.  The  Making  of  England. 
By  John  Richard  Green.  With  Maps.  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50 ;  Sheep, 
$3  00  ;    Half  Calf,  $3  75. 

GREEN'S  CONQUEST  OF  ENGLAND.  The  Conquest  of  England. 
By  John  Richard  Green.  With  Maps.  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50  ;  Sheep, 
$8  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $3  75. 


Valuable  Works  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries.  5 

ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS.     Edited  by  John  Morlet. 
The  following  volumes  are  now  ready.      Others  will  follow : 

JoHNSox.  By  L.  Stephen.— Gibbon.  By  J.  C.  Morison.— Scott.  By  R.  H.  Hut- 
ton.— SHELLEi-.  By  J.  A.  Symonds.— Goldsmith.  By  W.  Black.— Hi'me.  By  Pro- 
fessor Huxley.— Defoe.  By  W.  Minto.— Burns.  By  Principal  Sliairp.— Spe.nser. 
By  R.  W.  Church.— Thackeray.  By  A.  Trollope.— Burke.  By  J.  Morley.— Milton. 
By  M.  Pattison.— Soi-THEY.  By  E.  Dowden.— Chaucer.  By  A.  W.  Ward.  — Bu.wan. 
By  J.  A.  Froude.- CowPER.  By  G.  Smith.— Pope.  By  L.  Stephen.  — Byron.  By 
J.  Nichols.  — Locke.  By  T.  Fowler. —Wordsworth.  By  F.  W.  H.  Myers.  — Haw- 
thorne. By  Henry  James,  Jr.— Dryden.  By  G.  Saintsbury.— Landor.  By  S.  Col- 
vin.— De  Quincey.  By  D.  Masson.  — Lamb.  By  A.  Ainger.  — Bentley.  By  R.  C. 
Jebb.  -Dickens.  By  A.  W.  Ward.— Gray.  By  E.  W.  Gosse.— Swift.  By  L.  Stephen. 
—Sterne.  By  H.  D.  Traill.  — Macaulay.  By  J.  C.  Morison.— Fielding.  ByA.  Dob- 
son.— Sheridan.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.— Addison.  By  W.  J.  Courlhope.— Bacon.  By 
R.  W.  Church.— Coleridge.  By  H.  D.  Traill— Sir  Philip  Sidney.  By  J.  A.  Sy- 
monds.—Keats.  By  Sidney  Colvin.  12mo,  Cloth,  75  cents  per  volume. 
Popular  Edition,  36  volumes  in  12,  $1'2  00. 

REBER'S  HISTORY  OF  ANCIENT  ART.  History  of  Ancient  Art. 
Bv  Dr.  Franz  von  Reber.  Revised  by  the  Author.  Translated 
and  Augmented  by  Joseph  Thacher  Clarke.  With  310  Illustrations 
and  a  Glossary  of  Technical  Terms.      8vo,  Cloth,  f  3  50. 

REBER'S  MEDIEVAL  ART.  History  of  Mediaeval  Art.  By  Dr. 
Franz  von  Reber.  Translated  and  Augmented  by  Joseph  Thacher 
Clarke.  With  422  Illustrations,  and  a  Glossary  of  Technical  Terms. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

NEWCOMB'S  ASTRONOMY.  Popular  Astronomy.  By  Si.mon 
Newcomb,  LL.D.  With  112  Engravings,  and  5  Maps  of  the  Stars. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50 ;    School  Edition,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  30. 

DAVIS'S  INTERNATIONAL  LAW.  Outlines  of  International  Law, 
with  an  Account  of  its  Origin  and  Sources,  and  of  its  Historical  De- 
velopment. By  Geo.  B.  Davis,  U.S.A.,  Assistant  Professor  of  Law 
at  the  United  States  Military  Academy.     Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

CESNOLA'S  CYPRUS.  Cyprus  :  its  Ancient  Cities,  Tombs,  and 
Temples.  A  Narrative  of  Researches  and  Excavations  during  Ten 
Years'  Residence  in  that  Island.  By  L.  P.  di  Cesnola.  With 
Portrait,  Maps,  and  400  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  Extra,  Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $7  50;  Half  Calf,  $10  00. 

TENNYSON'S  COMPLETE  POEMS.  The  Complete  Poetical  Works 
of  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson.  With  an  Introductory  Sketch  by  Anne 
Thackerav  Ritchie.  With  Portraits  and  Illustrations.  Svo,  Extra 
Cloth,  Bevelled,  Gilt  Edges,  $2  50. 

LEA'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  INQUISITION.  History  of  the  Inqui- 
sition of  the  Middle  Ages.  By  Hknrt  Charles  Lea.  Tliree  Vol- 
umes.    Svo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top.?,  $3  00  per  volume. 


6  Valuable  Works  for  Puhlic  and  Private  Libraries. 

GliOTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.  12  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $18  00; 
Slieep,  $22  80;    Half  Calf,  $;}'J  00. 

FLAMMARION'S  ATMOSPHERE.  Translated  from  the  French 
of  Camille  Flammarion.  With  10  Chromo-Lithographs  and  86 
Wood-cuts.      8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $8  25. 

BAKER'S  ISMAILIA:  a  Narrative  of  the  Expedition  to  Central  Af- 
rica for  the  Suppression  of  the  Slave  -  trade,  organized  by  Isinaii, 
Khedive  of  Egypt.  By  Sir  Samukl  W.  Bakkr.  With  Maps,  Por- 
traits, ^nd  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00;   Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  ZAMBESI.  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  to  the 
Zambesi  and  its  Tributaries,  and  of  the  Discovei-y  of  the  Lakes 
Shirwa  and  Nyassa,  18o8  to  1864.  By  David  and  Charles  Living- 
stone.    lU'd.     8vo,  Cloth,$5  00;  Sheep,  $5  50;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  LAST  JOURNALS.  The  Last  Journals  of  Da- 
vid Livingstone,  in  Central  Africa,  from  1865  to  his  Death.  Con- 
tinued by  a  Narrative  of  his  Last  Moments,  obtained  from  his 
Faithful  Servants  Churaa  and  Susi,  By  Horace  Waller.  With 
Portrait,  Maps,  and  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00;   Sheep,  $Q  00. 

CHARNAY'S  ANCIENT  CITIES  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD.  The 
Ancient  Cities  of  the  New  World:  Being  Voyages  and  Explorations 
in  Mexico  and  Central  America,  from  1857  to  1882.  By  Desire 
Charnay.  Translated  by  J.  Gonino  and  Helen  S.  Conant.  Illus- 
trations and  Map.  Royal  8vo,  Ornamental  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges,  Gilt 
Tops,  $6  00. 

"  THE  FRIENDLY  EDITION  "  of  Shakespeare's  Works.  Edited  by 
W.J.  Rolfe.  In  20  vols.  Illustrated.  16mo,  Gilt  Tops  and  Un- 
cut Edges,  Sheets,  $27  00 ;  Cloth,  $30  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $60  00  per  Set. 

GIESELER'S  ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY.  A  Text-Book  of 
Church  History.  By  Dr.  John  C.  L.  Gieseler.  Translated  from 
the  Fourth  Revised  German  Edition.  Revised  and  Edited  by  Rev. 
Henry  B.  Smith,  D.D.  Vols.  I.,  II.,  III.,  and  IV.,  8vo,"cioth, 
$3  25  each;  Vol.  V.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $3  00.  Complete  Sets,  5  vols., 
Sheep,  $14  50  ;  Half  Calf,  $23  25. 

CURTIS'S  LIFE  OF  BUCHANAN.  Life  of  James  Buchanan,  Fif- 
teenth President  of  the  United  States.  By  George  Ticknor  Cur- 
tis. With  Two  Steel  Plate  Portraits.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $6  00. 

COLERIDGE'S  WORKS.  The  Complete  W^orks  of  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  upon  his  Philosophical  and 
Theological  Opinions.  Edited  by  Professor  W.  G.  T.  Shedd.  W^ith 
Steel  Portrait,  and  an  Index.  7  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00  per  vol- 
ume ;  $12  00  per  set;  Half  Calf,  $24  25. 


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